Father Figure
by Perzephone
Summary: The Joker's only daughter is young and afraid. With an intelligent mind she knows the difference between right and wrong, gifted with the conscience her father lacks. She loves him, but she is suffering from the toll crime can take. This is her story.
1. Father Figure

Her head was pounding. The overhead lights were bright enough to remind her of a drilling laser. She thought her bloodshot eyeballs would melt out of her head if she looked at them for a few seconds too long. The distant clanging and echos and yells of police and inmates alike rattled her bones; it was only a reminder that she was one of them, but she was the most damned of them all. Licking her dry lips, she knitted her fingers together over and over, twisting them and fighting back tears. _They won't get anything out of me_. She thought, over and over again, like a mantra.

That seemed to crumble as the door was pulled open, an electric buzzer groaning for several seconds as two cops walked in-- Leiutenant Jim Gordon and Lieutenant Hughes, both looking very overworked, very stressed out, and very pissed off. She fidgeted nervously, staring at the steel table. Gordon sat down roughly in front of her, Hughes standing off to the side. There was a short, intense silence, before Gordon cleared his throat. Hughes passed him a file folder.

"Your name is... Charlie, correct?" She nodded after a moment. "You are directly related to the criminal known as the Joker?" her face paled. Gordon groaned after a moment, when she continued to keep her silence. He rubbed his forehead and Hughes came to stand behind her, looming over her, threatening. "It says right here that you have the same DNA as the Joker." Gordon said, scanning his notes. "Is that right? You are his daughter?"

Slowly, she nodded. "I need you to tell me everything you know about him." Gordon said. He was frustrated because this was just a kid-- a baby, really. Fifteen year old Charlie, no last name, carted around by her psychopathic father who was no doubt trying to mould her into exactly what he was. She didn't wear the face paint or have any scars that he could see, and she certainly had no green hair-- it was dark chestnut. Charlie remained silent. "Where is he." Gordon said lowly. A vein throbbed in his temple when she kept quiet. "_Where is he._"

She wasn't going to talk. Slamming his fist against the table in frustration, he got up and stormed out of the interrogation room. Hughes grabbed Charlie and lifted her up roughly under the arms, pushing her towards the door.

"Don't even think about boltin'." He said threateningly behind her. She chewed her lip roughly, staring at the floor. _Don't say a word. _she thought. Dad depended on it.

Pushed back into the holding cell more violently then neccessary, she landed hard on her knees and her father was tsking.

"Don't-- don't throw my kid around." he said venemously, looking at Hughes. The officer's face paled at his nemesis' look, although he tried not to show it. "Don't."

"Shut up." Hughes retorted. Charlie got up and scuttled over to the Joker, sitting down next to him tightly. He leaned over and whispered something in her ear and she looked at Hughes, something dark and twisted burning in her eyes now, instead of fear. Hughes watched them from afar. What sort of freak was this girl going to turn into?

Gordon came next to him.

"Should we seperate them?" he asked.

"Why the hell didn't you think of that before?!" Hughes retorted sarcastically. "Of course we should seperate them."

"The girl..."

"Fuck the girl. Maybe she'll be his downfall."

"I'm not sure he cares." Gordon said, watching the two.

"Dad," Charlie hissed, nudging the humming man's arm. "Dad, can you just _please--_"

"Ah- ah, Ah now my girl," he squeezed her jaw tightly. She winced, clutching his wrist. She didn't dare hit him. She learned a long time ago not to hit him. "I will figure this _out_. You can just _watch_. And observe, like how a good little girl is supposed. Children should be _seen_, not _heard_." he smacked his lips, nodding, before wheezing out a rustic laugh. He released her face, and Charlie turned away, her face burning.

His eyes glittering, the psychopath slowly counted off the seconds. Another hour, maybe. Just another hour. He turned his black eyes towards his daughter, who was staring off in the other direction. Tsking, he put one hand on her knee, squeezing it until she looked at him. He brought his face close to hers, infected lips parting until she could see every one of his yellow teeth. "Don't look so _sad,_ sweetheart, _daddy's here_." he growled, patting her face gently. "I won't let anything happen to you."

Tears were glistening in her eyes. She didn't want her father to go to Arkham. It didn't matter how deranged he was, or even if he hit her sometimes, she still loved him. She blinked quickly several times. "Put a smile on that pretty face. For _me_." he flicked the side of her lips and she smiled. It was more of a grimace, but it was better then a frown. Cooing, the Joker lightly butted his nose against hers. "That's my girl."

"Jesus." Gordon remarked, wincing at the close contact the two were sharing. "I don't like that they're talking about something I don't know about."

"Well, let's seperate them!" Hughes said fiercely, clutching Gordon's shoulder. "For all we know, they're figuring out a way to get out!" Gordon brushed him off.

"You have kids, John?" Gordon asked, looking at his long-time friend square in the eyes. Hughes shook his head. "Well, you knew your father, didn't you?" After a moment, Hughes nodded. "We have no idea what this girl is like. For all we know, seperating them might lead to something catastrophic."

"But what if it's the other way around--"

"That's a risk we'll have to take." Gordon said, suddenly looking ten years older. He looked so depressed and exhausted, nearly out of his mind, Hughes didn't press it any longer. "Besides, you remember how pissed off the Joker was when we interrogated her." he reminded, before slouching off towards the coffee machine.

Exactly one hour later, exactly nine o clock in the night, the phones started to ring and four officers burst into the holding hall. Gordon stood up immediately, disliking the aura of destruction they brought in with them.

"What?" he said sharply.

"It's Dent." One said. "He's blown into Gotham general bank. He's got nine people hostage and he's killing one off every ten minutes unless you get down there _now_."

"Jesus _fucking _Christ." Gordon fumed, violently raking his hand through his silver hair. "Alright everybody! Let's move! Gothom general bank is our priority! LET'S GO!" he boomed. He turned to two other officers. "You, Jericho and Muria. You stay here and watch them." he spat. There was no doubt as to who those two were. The Joker was laughing in his cell. Gordon ignored him and walked out the door with his head held high but his sanity trailing behind him; God, was the Joker having fun tonight.

Ten minutes of awkward silence, and Muria said he was going to the washroom, leaving the already antsy Jericho behind.

"Jericho..." The Joker said softly. The officer didn't listen. The Joker stood up, sauntering over to the bars of the cage until he could breathe down Jericho's neck. He could see the little hairs standing up. He chuckled morbidly. "I know something no one else knows." he taunted. He saw Jericho stiffen and his smile got wider. "You know what I know, _traitor._" he purred. "Look at me." When Jericho didn't obey, the Joker slammed the bars of the cell loudly and violently. He heard Jericho whimper, and slowly turn around to face him. "That's better." He cleared his throat. "I better make this fast, before Muria comes back, eh?" he leaned forward and started whispering rapidly into Jericho's face.

Charlie watched, curious but not daring to move, or even speak. She watched, as in only one minute, Jericho the fierce looking cop was reduced to whimpers and pitiful crying, his shoulders shaking and face pinching brutishly. Charlie watched in amazement as Jericho handed him his gun through the bars.

----------

Gordon was halfway through the bank when he got a radio call from Muria.

The Joker had escaped, leaving Jericho dead. He had taken his daughter with him.

Screaming, Gordon put his fist through the cruiser window.


	2. Head Games

Charlie knew luxury, but only in the forms of gunpowder, dynamite and blood. Sitting on the uncomfortable bed where she slept most of her days and nights, she stared at the clock on the wall, ticking off the minutes to nothing. Everytime she closed her eyes, she saw Jericho's head fly in six different directions. She had seen blood before, but none as bright and vibrant as that. She didn't want to think about the sludgy, pinkish-black chunks, the bits of hair, shreds of bone. She didn't want to remember the sound of something crunching under her foot as her father yanked her out of the cell.

She had a gun. The Joker had given it to her two years ago, when she had been thirteen. It was a sleek, shiny, M1911 Colt Pistol. One hundred and twenty seven millimetres of cold, hard death and power. The gun was under her pillow. She was more partial to firearms then knives; even though she had never shot anyone dead, she would rather plug a bullet into a man's skull then slit his throat and watch him writhe in their last extremities. She reached under her pillow now and held it. It was warm and greasy in her sweaty palms. Licking her lips, she aimed it at the wall. Pulling back the safety, she reminded herself that it was fully loaded, and never to point it at herself.

Sometimes she was tempted too.

She turned it over and over in her hands, looking at every single mark and detail. The Colt's barrell glared at her. The small dark hole reminded her that death was just several inches away. Licking her lips, a nervous habit she had picked up from the Joker, she slid it back under her pillow just as the door opened. The Joker never really announced his entry; he wasn't one for knocking. Charlie liked to think that before her father went insane-- she hated that word, _insane_, it sounded so metallic and damning-- he would have been a free spirit, a wondering philosipher who knew how to party.

He stepped into the room. His makeup was peeling off, the green hair dye starting to wear out fast. Charlie usually did his makeup when the mood struck him. She even dyed his hair; the acrid smell of the dye always reminded her of institutions and hospitals.

"Why are you sitting here all by- ah- _yourself_? Hmm?" he said, making elaborate hand gestures, thin eyebrows raising into his creased brow. Charlie shrugged, proceeding with caution. The Joker's eyes were glittering again-- he must have been in the grip of some catastrophic plan.

"Is there something going on?" She asked, getting off the bed and leading her father out of her room. Despite his heinous reputation and his sometimes vicious head-games he played with her, he always respected her privacy, having never rifled through her drawers or searched her. She doubted he would kick her ass over anything he found anything-- he's probably done it all. The pound of grass he once found sitting on her bed, shoved under her sheets in a half-assed attempt to hide it only made him burst into a fit of laughter.

"There's always some_thing _going on." he replied, flicking her face teasingly. He cleared his throat, cracking his collarbone, running his tongue over his swollen lips. "I'll explain while you get me ready, for our next _party_." Charlie groaned inwardly. She followed him into the rusty washroom, the red and green sink stains in the sink making her feel depressed. He sat on the toilet, leaning back while Charlie collected his makeup-- white greasepaint, khol eyeshadow and thick red lipstick-- and she nestled herself comfortably before him and started applying it, feeling like she was peeling off a mask rather then putting it on.

"So, _darling_, what's been, ah-- bothering _you_." he asked flatly, staring her down. She shook her head.

"Nothing." She replied, slicking the paint over his cheekbones. He chuckled morbidly.

"Ya know, Charlie-baby, I know when you're _happy_, and I know when you're _sad_." he grabbed her hand, getting grease paint all over his fingers. She stopped moving, staring back at him. It wasn't a good idea to look away from him; that would mean that he had the advantage. Despite the fact that she was his daughter, they always had to be on same level. Otherwise he would pull her into something she couldn't get out of.

"What do you mean?" He smiled, his scars wrinkling and doubling up on his deformed cheeks.

"Ah huh, don't try to play fool, _daughter_ of mine," he released her fingers. "I don't like it when my baby is, ah- _sad_. It makes me feel... that I'm not doing my job right. And I'm _always right_, aren't I?" it was another head game, she knew that, in order to trick her into telling him what was wrong.

Charlie wasn't stupid. Her father hadn't neglected in teaching her what she needed to know-- even if it wasn't exactly home schooling. If anything, she was good with mind games; especially her father's. His head games were worse then anyone elses; worse then Gordon's, worse then Batman's, because he knew everything that made her tick, everything that made her cry and everything that made her laugh.

"I guess." she said awkwardly. She wrung her hand out of his ever-tightening grasp and started painting his face again. "Why are you asking all this?"

"'Cause I would _want _to know how my g_iirl_ is feel_ing _about all of my _work_. And I know you don't really _like_ it at all, do you?" he said. Things began to feel really intense in this small, enclosed space. She was uncomfortable.

"Dad, I don't want to talk about this."

"Why not? Are you losing your mind?" he grinned.

"That's enough." She said sharply. Then, he reached around her head, pushing her face close to his.

"Wanna know what we're doing tonight?" he hissed. Charlie tensed.

"What?"

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	3. Magic Tricks

**A/N: someone mentioned something about incest. for the love of god i am not putting incest in here, so don't worry. It would just make this whole story... not neccessarily more **_**creepy**_**, but just revolting.**

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When Charlie was a little girl, she remembered often that her father was not always like this. She barely remember her own mother. All she remembered was long, auburn hair, and whenever mom cried, Charlie cried. When mom was smiling and laughing, Charlie was smiling and laughing. What Charlie didn't know was that her mother liked to gamble. One day dad came to pick her up from preschool halfway through the day. He was very tight-lipped and he was the colour of milk. His eyes were red.

When mom came home from the hospital, Charlie had cried. She had cried a lot. She wouldn't let mom go near her; her mother scared her now. She didn't understand why mommy was always smiling, except Charlie never smiled anymore. Her mom was always smiling, even when she cried. Mommy and dad stopped talking to each other; the only time they did they were yelling. Empty beer cans littered the place. One time mom threw a half empty glass bottle of whiskey at Charlie, and her father had punched her mom. Charlie couldn't sleep anymore; the house always smelled like vomit and hospitals. Everytime she ate she felt sick. What almost drove her crazy; was that she couldn't understand _why._

Dad couldn't take it. One evening he came home, and went into the washroom. He was in there for a long time. Charlie had been asleep when she heard her mom screaming. Charlie had went downstairs, holding her little stuffed rabbit (Mr Magoo), and all she saw was daddy's face bleeding everywhere. And he was smiling too. And laughing.

Two weeks later, mommy left.

And things went all downhill from there.

Charlie, now fifteen years old, sat in the small kitchenette, her legs curled up towards her chest. She was smoking a cigarette. Mom had smoked cigarettes, too-- they always smelled minty. These cigarettes were rollies, but Charlie still felt close to her mother everytime she smoked, even if she smoked rarely. Her heart felt like it was filling with lead; that poison was filling the ventricles, the atria feeling like ice. Dad had a new plan. Charlie was been the main inspiration, of course, her father had said if it hadn't been for her, there wouldn't have been no big plan.

Dad said that Gotham abused its children; the parents so obsessed with themselves that they neglected their own offspring. And then, of course there are the orphans, the ones with no parents or homes, living in Gotham Orphanage, just on the outskirts of this smoky city. Jesus. Charlie pressed a clammy hand to her forehead, feeling the tears in her eyes. One slid down her face, and then several more. Her father was humming in the next room. He was _preparing_, and Charlie was going to have a first-row seat. She had no mixed emotions, she felt _nothing,_ except that unescapable feeling of being lost.

Sometimes she thought that she hated her father, but whenever he wasn't near, or gone for a long time, she felt like she was dying. He _needed _her, even though he would never admit that. Never. And she needed him, but she couldn't tell him that. Dad hated weakness. Weakness and fear and pain were the things that fueled him, and the more he got, the more sadistic he became.

He walked into the kitchenette, stopping as they looked at each other. He had a demented smile on his face. "Ya know, smok_ing _causes-- aha, hehe, cancer. Or _emphysemia._" he said, his voice like liquid.

"I'll worry about that when it happens." Charlie replied, but she stubbed out her smoke anyways. She looked away from his vicious gaze. "Dad..."

"What." he was in the other room again. Charlie got up and entered the next room, wincing. Strewn all across the floor were wires and fuselages. A tank of gasoline rested against one corner. Several guns rested on the torn couch. The Joker was feeling up several sticks of dynamite, checking their firmness. Checking their lethal capacity. She swallowed. Her mouth felt a little dry. "What? What is _it_?" he looked at her, expectingly.

"Dad, uhm, how about we _don't _blow up an orphanage? How about we just stay home tonight?"

"And? We order Chinese and discuss atrology and Greek myths?" he giggled. "You're funny, Charlie-_baby_. Ah-- haha, we're going to have even _more _fun tonight. You're going to be in _stitches!_" he burst out laughing.

"Christ." Charlie muttered. To further irritate her father, she lit another cigarette and blew the smoke at him. He took it as a form of defiance and displease; which he intensely disliked. He tossed a stick of dynamite from hand to hand and walked right over to her, standing inches away. He plucked the cigarette from her hands and took a deep drag himself, extinguishing almost half of it. He blew it out completely, directly into her face. She waved it off, deciding to not look away, but stare him down. At least a hundred kids' lives could be in the balance if she lost this battle.

She rarely managed to convince her father out of doing insane things; hell, she paid for it dearly everytime she did. But this was worth it; she had to do this. Normally, a dark, secret part of her just didn't give a shit. She hated that side of her; it personified her as someone exactly identical to her own father; a man she loved yet despised.

"Ya just don't _get it,_ do you?" he said, sounding more like a snake then anything else now. "You know I'm not for a-- a plan, Charlie-baby, I just _do_ whatever the hell I want to do." He gripped her shoulders, squeezing them tightly. She winced. "I'm gonna blow this orphanage to ruins, and the fireworks are gonna be a _riot_." he giggled a little. "And you're gonna be _there_, and Gotham's gonna learn that _I _say who lives or dies. I'm gonna say who _prospers_. And who _fails._" he laughed. "I _love _you, Charlie, but you gotta learn, I don't give a _fuck _about what you think is right or wrong." he pushed her back. Her face got hot, in humiliation and she left the room, walking straight to her bedroom and slamming the door loud enough to make the tiny complex rattle.

Even though she lay on her bed and covered her ears, she could still hear his laughter long after he stopped.

--------------

8 : 34 pm.

Gordon stood on top of the GPD, anxiously sucking down coffee, observing the dark sky. The bat signal had been smashed to pieces weeks before; but he still stood here when he needed Batman, just on the off chance that He would come, even though he knew it was all in vain. Sometimes, he just came up here to get some air. Other times, he considered jumping off the roof. His breath was frosty in the cooling air; winter was coming soon. Fall was giving out its last dredges of chilly air and falling leaves; soon a light blanket of snow will cover the streets. Normally snow could be considered something of beauty, but in Gotham, it only warranted more deeper depression. Well, for Gordon especially.

The real reason he was up here tonight was the note crunched up in the bottom of his pocket. Dear God, he hoped Batman would arrive. He felt foolish and guilty; he was risking the lives of innocents, waiting for some crusader no one has seen in weeks. Sure, beat-up criminals kept turning up, drug deals continued getting busted and crime was still being filtered by the dark knight, but Gordon would have so much more comfort if he could just talk to the Batman again. He made these evil streets safer through his own black magic.

The door behind him creaked open, and he turned around. Ramirez approached, dressed in a warm GPD parka. It made Gordon shiver. He himself was only in a thick sweater, and that did little to protect him from the elements. Ramirez came to stand beside him. She observed his withering posture and the exhausted look in his red eyes. She sipped her coffee and looked over the city. "I don't think he's coming, lieutenant."

A promotion was just underway for Gordon, being elected as the most proper candidate to become commissioner. His by-the-book ways and gentle personality even gave him a position as a favourite amongst the mob, for he was always one to give second chances, believing everyone was redeemable and forgivable.

Except the Joker.

A hatred and curiosity for the man had rooted itself in Gordon; he loathed him for causing so much pain, and he was furiously curious because he would never _understand _him. Let alone, understand how he found anyone to actually have sex with him and produce a child. Maybe, he had a life before all this. Maybe, he had been a man, maybe exactly like Gordon.

He wanted to pull out his hair. "Lieutenant?" Ramirez repeated.

"Huh? Oh, yes. Yes, I realize that Ramirez. It's just..." Gordon sighed, raking a hand through his thick silver hair. "Christ, Ramirez I need him _now_."

"Yeah. I know." Ramirez replied, attempting to find a way to comfort him. She hated seeing such a strong-willed man deteriorate; especially someone like Gordon. All he ever wanted to do what was help, and now everything he had done was now becoming undone. He was going insane, which was probably what the Joker wanted him to do in the first place. "Come back inside, Gordon, or you're going to freeze."

"Yeah." Gordon replied, without really hearing what she said. He took scanned the rooftops one last time and then followed Ramirez back inside.

---------------

The ride out to the orphanage was bumpy and stuffy. The Joker had insisted that Charlie come. He himself rarely presented himself before his goons without a mask, but he said this was a special occasion. He sat in the back of the van. Charlie was inbetween him and one of his cronies, a small whispy man named Steve. Steve was an alright guy, Charlie found. God knows the Joker didn't pay good, let alone treat anyone who worked for him with any sort of respect, but Steve was like a big brother to Charlie, but mainly only because he (and anyone else) wasn't allowed to touch or hit her, or even yell at her, if they wanted to lose their spleen. Steve, out of everyone, had lasted the longest-- 5 months. He was considered a veteran now, and he didn't carry that about with pride.

The Joker couldn't seem to stop giggling or humming. He was bouncing around amiably in his seat, repeatedly licking his lips. Charlie stared out the cracked windshield. They were close to the end of the jurisdiction of Gotham, and the orphanage loomed overhead-- St Gale's Orphanage. Home of tortured innocence and kids on their last hint of life. God, there were _babies _in there, four year old kids. The oldest ones were sixteen, without a doubt. Hell, maybe one of these kids were going to be something _big,_ like a famous war hero or a doctor that will discover the cure for cancer.

And they were going to blow them away. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably and all the kraft dinner her dad had made for her before was threatening to come up. She swallowed, grimacing. The Joker took hold of her wrist. She looked at him. "_Charlie,_" he let her name roll off his tongue. "You're _ruining _the moment. I could make you _set off _the bomb if I wanted too. Ya know that, _right_?" he slid his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her closely to him. Despite herself, she nestled close into him. Despite her fear and guilt, she was still comforted by his presence. She buried her face in his coat. She knew it was an immature, unneccessary thing to do, but she craved contact from someone who never gave it. The Joker didn't mind.

"I just want to go home." Charlie mumbled.

"Too bad, babe." The Joker replied cheerfully. "STOP!" he barked. They paused about a hundred and thirty feet away from the orphanage's driveway entrance. "You shits set up the bombs. You know the _plan_. Right?" he barked gruffly. His workers nodded, cocking their guns and slipping on their masks. "I'll be in there in ah-- _ten minutes._ If things are going according to," he smacked his lips, "_Plan,_" there was sarcasm in his voice. Charlie shuddered. He didn't even know what he was going to do. "You'll all die with those puny, innocent kids. Got it? Get the hell out of my van." They got out fast, one carrying a large duffel bag carrying the reaper for at least 150 kids.

The orhanage was massive; it had once been a school, five floors and containing a very decent campus. Steve got out, slamming the door. Charlie lifted her head from her father's coat.

"Cheer _up, _you're so miserable." The Joker thumbed her jaw, before gripping it lightly. "What's _botherin' _ya, my dear? ...You don't have a _boyfriend, _do you?"

"No." Charlie retorted, gripping his wrist and prying his hand away from her. "Dad, I just get..._scared_."

"Why?"

"What do you mean _why?_" she replied, astounded. "_Dad_, we escaped from the GCP like, what, like 24 hours ago? And now we're blowing up an--" her breath hitched in her throat. "Orphanage, like..."

"Relax, sh, shh, sh, shhhhh." The Joker tugged on her hair gently, smiling wider. "You _still _don't get it!"

"What is there to get!" Charlie protested viciously. "_Dad, _you scare me!"

"Awwe, am I too scary for liddle Charlie?" he squeezed her shoulder in something of what he must have meant to be comfort. "Quit _bitching,_ daughter of mine, _and enjoy-- _aha, haha, the _show._" he cuffed her roughly and told her to watch from the van.

"Why, now I can't come in at all?" Charlie retorted icily. She was trying vainly to hide the fact that she was about to burst into hysterics. She clambered into the passenger seat by the steering wheel, digging around in the glove compartment for cigarettes.

"I can't risk anything happening to you, in case Batsy shows up. You can watch from the _vehicle,_ where my girl will be _safe._" the Joker giggled, pinching her cheek. She swatted him away like he was a fly. He left the van, a pump action shotgun twirling absently in his nimble fingers. Charlie curled up tightly, looking into the dark night. Could anyone see us? Could her dad find her way back? Was he going to be okay? What if Batman _did _show up and got him? Hurt him? Killed him? What if the police managed to catch the Joker, and he was locked away in Arkham _again_, except this time he didn't escape?

Sighing hard, she lit a smoke and leaned her head against the window.

---------------------------

The Joker did not remember much of his childhood. He remembered a half empty bottle of Jack Daniel's Tenessee whiskey. He remembered his mother dressed in dirty clothes and often dropping to her knees in the kitchen and praying to God for his father to be killed. He remembered his father and a knife, and something red and sticky on his hands. He barely remembered his name. After Jeannie left. There was nothing but Charlie. Charlie and her bubbly, gurgly laugh. When she was a baby, she would often latch onto the bottoms of his pants and he would drag her around and her laughter would sail about the house. He remembered his father stomping his mother to death with his own two feet.

He remembered the smell of ashes, the sound of screaming, and the feeling of not being able to breathe. He remembered that he couldn't see. He remembered that he had cried so hard he had thrown up. He had been placed in an orphanage, a lot like this, except the nuns used to whip them with sticks and belts if they goofed off. He had always secretly, very secretly, enjoyed their abuse.

One time, a nun saw that he had a little erection growing while beating him. She had grabbed some scissors, pulled down his pants and threatened to cut his little penis off. He remembered it took him a long time to ever get an erection after that.

Walking up the hallway, his smooth black heels clicking along the marble floor, he saw a nun crouched in a corner, clutching a sobbing three year old boy. The Joker looked at her horrified face, and pointed his gun at her. Her head blew off her shoulders and the little boy only screamed once, and then lay crumped on the headless body, quaking. He scraped a finger about his ear, trying to get rid of the ringing. He entered the cafeteria, where the goons and cronies had assembled every person in the building, shooting quite a few and taking what they wanted. The children were all huddled together, sobbing and crying. The nuns were praying, fingering their rosaries and their eyes blank and shocked.

"Good _evening_, children." he boomed, causing all talk and cry to slightly decrease in volume. "I gotta ask," he grinned wide, showing off all of his teeth. "Do ya kiddies like _clowns?!_" he said loudly, firing a bullet at the cieling. Several children screamed as plaster fell down. He laughed over their cacaphony of tears and screams. "How would you all like to see a _magic trick_?"

"_How dare you!" _An old crone boomed, standing in the center of the crowd of children and nuns. She was the colour of milk and was shaking in her nun's habit, clenching her rosary so hard her knuckles were bleach white and looked like they were going to collapse in on themselves. "_What in God's name is the point of this?_! You attack a house full of innocent children! What have they ever done to you!"

The Joker smacked his lips, cocking his head, genuinely intrigued.

"_Why_? You ask _why?_" he chuckled uncontrollably. "To send a _message_, bitch." he plugged a bullet directly into her forehead, showering children with brains and blood. He threw his head back and laughed, slapping his knee with his free hand and looking around his captive audience. "_Anyways_," he yelled over the screaming echoing off the walls, "I promised you all a _magic trick..._"

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	4. Dance With the Devil

Was there even the question of falling asleep? Charlie stared out the window and into the darkness, observing the lights of the orphanage. All were on. God knows what was going on in there, and she did not want to find out. She licked her lips, chewing on them, a few times even considering just leaping out of the van and running, just running, all the way back to the middle of oldtown Gotham and curling up in some dirty alleyway and just staying there until she was forty. Anything then to sit with the guilt and anxiety. She played with her hands, contemplating whether it was even worth crying right now.

She rolled down the window. It was stuffy in here. She was afraid that if she did, she would hear everything; but she knew she was going to hear it anyways. Feeling like she was stuck in a ten foot hole, she rubbed her temples, hanging her head over the side of the window so the cool breeze could touch her face. She closed her eyes and tried to remember her mother, but further decided that she did not want to think about that. She tried to put herself in one of those orphan's positions and found that she couldn't even do _that_, so she thought about just running in there and stopping her father altogether; but even she couldn't do that either.

Sighing miserably, she closed her eyes.

"Charlie."

She literally screeched, spinning around violently in the seat. Her eyes widened and her spit went dry. Batman was resting in the driver seat, looking like an otherwordly, supernatural being from Hell. He towered over her. She reached around and grabbed the door handle and flung the door open, and in her panic fell out of the van and landed hard on her back on the gravel on the shoulder. Batman followed her out, his face ever dispassionate and cold. She scrambled back, ignoring the pain in her kidneys, her mouth falling open and closing.

"_Dad!_" she yelled without really realizing it.

"Where is he?" Batman replied for her, leaning down over her and grabbed the collar of her sweater. She clawed at his heavily gloved hands, trying to kick him.

"GET OFF!" she screamed. "GET OFFA ME!"

"Tell me where your _father _is." He said, his voice snapping around her neck like a snake. She felt like she was suffocating.

"_Leave me ALONE_!" she bawled, refusing to answer him.

Batman threw her down to the road, stalking past her and towards the orphanage. Charlie bit her lower lip until it bled. God, he was going to go into the orphanage. And freak out. Charlie scrambled into the seat again, slamming the still-open door shut. Shaking violently, she grabbed the cellphone resting on the dash and speed-dialed her father-- number six. After several rings, it picked up.

"_Helloo?_" over the sound of his cheerful voice was the awful sounds of screaming and crying.

"DAD!" she shrieked.

"_Yes, yes, what is it? What's wrong?"_

"B-B-Buh-Ba--Batman!" She stammered. "He's coming!"

"_How do you know?" _

"He just.. he just talked to me, dad!" she was crying now. "Please come back!"

"..._Wait for a couple minutes, precious."_

"But DAD--"

"_Ah, tat tat tat tat, don't rush me dear. Ah-- I'm almost done."_ Explosions rocked the world on the other side of the line and his insane, rusty laugh echoed over the phone, and then it went dead. Charlie stared at it for a few seconds, before snapping it closed and letting it drop to the floor of the van. She suddenly found it hard to breathe, like the wind had been knocked out of her. An unconscious keening sound left her throat and she crawled to the back of the van, curling up and putting her head on her knees so she wouldn't throw up. _Don't puke. Don't puke._ She thought repeatedly. _Please, don't puke..._

The door ripped open, scaring the hell out of her. She looked up, fully expecting Batman. Instead, it was her father. Steve was getting in the driver seat. No one else had come back. The Joker got into the backseat. There was a long cut going across his forehead. Blood leaked into his eyes, swirling with his makeup, making the oddest tear-tracks on his insanely grinning face.

"Drive!" he barked at Steve, who did what he said without a word and slammed on the accelerator. Charlie was wrenched back violently by the whiplash but still got her arms around her father's sides, hugging him tightly. Her face had turned the colour of cheese, her eyes now the size of saucers.

"Awe, is Charlie _afraid _of the _Batman?_" The Joker cooed, patting her head of messy auburn hair.

"D-did you _see _him?" she asked.

"Of course I did. Bat-boy can't help make an appeareance in an attempt to ruin my _fun_." He pried her off of him, settling her back on the seat. "Imagine what would have happened if _you were in there_. Ah-- haha, it would have been _messy_. Or you would have fainted." he wheezed out another laugh. Charlie had noticed he had been bleeding before; but now it really hit her that he _was bleeding _everywhere.

"Your head!" she exclaimed. "You're bleeding!"

"Ahhaa, yess. _Batsy _was determined to leave a _mark._" he chuckled at her aghast face. "C'mon, I don't want to die without any _scars!_" he laughed loudly, throwing his head back. Charlie slumped against him, holding onto him, as if in hopes that the harder she clutched him the easier he'll stay on earth with her. Because if he left her, she would have nowhere else to go.

She often felt like her father was a boat, and she was the only one aboard, and she was caught in a raging ocean storm. She knew that if she was catapulted off, the consequences would be drastic. She would die. In reality's case-- lose her sanity _and _her dad. Maybe she would die, too, because he was all she had. She closed her eyes and slept. She had definitely had way too much excitement for one day; and it was time to sleep. And sleep she did, her father tapping out a gentle lullably on the small of her back with his fingers.

-------------------------

She woke up in her bed. The tattered, old sheets had been rumpled towards the end of the bed; no doubt from her heated tossing and turning the night before, the same night her father had pulled her over a dead body and she stepped in schrapnel of his skull. Her father's heavy mauve coat was draped over her, curled tightly around her body and feeling quite warm. She fiddled with the inside pockets. Inside was a crumpled cigarette. She used her own lighter to light it, curling onto her side and finding herself enjoying the smell of his jacket; detergent, gasoline and sulpher. She was letting the smoke curl out of her nose, rethinking the previous night's events. A shiver went down her spine and she thought about other things. What it would be like to be a movie star. A rock star. A porn star.

Then she remembered she hadn't been out in _ages_. She hadn't played with her makeup, hair or clothes in what must have been over a month; she had been too worried. Too busy feeling sorry for herself. Despite the horrifying events of the night before, she got out of bed, feeling rejuvenated. Maybe it was the side her father had created in her; the part of her that he had nursed into being something glamorous, vicious, twisted and lethal. Maybe that side of her wanted to get out a bit more.

Either way, perhaps the only thing a girl could do in her position was to get the hell out of the place that was tormenting her. Maybe in order to redeem herself. The more she lay here, in her father's coat, the more she thought about all those _children_, all for one man's demented reasoning. She swallowed. It tasted like gopher shit in her mouth. She licked her dry lips. They were dry enough that if she ran her tongue over them hard enough they would crack and bleed. She had never liked the taste of blood. In her mind, she thought she could smell burning flesh. Flesh of children. She stubbed out her cigarette angrily. The guilt made her stomach turn over. She had to leave, get some fresh air.

Besides, she would go _insane _if she stayed in this place.

She walked out of her room, keeping her father's coat wrapped tightly around her. She found him in the main living room/dining room that had been turned into a mechanic's shop. Half-fused bombs and grenades lay about the place; spark plugs, wires, grenades, guns, knives, drilling bits and god knows what else. He was sitting on the dilapitated couch, his feet propped up on the collapsing coffee table filled with loose papers covered in designs and architecture plans. God knows what he was planning next. He was smoking a cigarillo. He looked at her, thick blue smoke curling out of his lips. A small plume actually curled out of a hole halfway between his cheekbone and lip.

"That jacket looks _good_ on you, Charlie-baby." he grinned. "Sleep-ah, hehe, _well?_"

"I want to go out." her voice was weaker then she had first suspected.

"You look like _shit._" The Joker remarked, flicking a long column of ashes off of his smoke.

"Well I'll make myself _not _look like shit." she retorted. He chuckled. He looked somewhat smaller and more lithe without his heavy jacket. She couldn't figure out which was more dangerous. "Is that shower working?"

"_Noo _idea." he replied.

"No idea." she echoed, irritated. "Great."

"Where would you be going, _darling_?"

"I don't know."

"I suppose you want some _money_. That's the only reason, ah- why you still..._stay _here, isn't it?"

"No!" Charlie said, sounding genuinely offended. The Joker laughed, standing up, walking over to her.

"Uh, hehe, hold my _cigar, _kiddo." she did, and he dug into one of the pockets of his jacket and produced a thick wad of cash. Her eyes opened wide in their sockets. "Merry _Christmas._ And, uh, hehe-- _ah,_ don't spend it all on drugs." he winked while Charlie flushed. She shrugged out of his jacket, returned both it and the cigar. "Come back with some clean clothes, too. Can't have my _giiirl _walking around like a hobo."

"Okay." Charlie went back to her room, and collected her purse and the cleanest clothes she could find lumped up in the closet. They did move often; but they had been here for several months, allowing time to let Charlie's clothes collect in the closet. Last month, for her birthday, Steve had bought her some clean pants-- one of those 70 dollar Bongo jeans that were skin-tight, but flared just a little bit at the ankle. She grabbed a black turtleneck and a white hoodie, and then the small Bongo jacket Steve had got for her to match.

Charlie had thanked Steve a lot, even though she preferred sweat pants and knee-length jackets that would definitely ensure her warmth. This black jacket was skimpy, stopping in a tight sort of felt fabric around her waist, with a wide collar more for fashion then for climate. But she had appreciated it, and didn't dare toss either clothing items away. But, secretly, she _loved _dressing like this, because she knew that people did stare at her, and maybe even admire her, and that made any teenage girl feel so good inside.

She hopped in the shower, washing away every single bit of dirt and dust and sweat that had accumulated. She washed her hair four or five times until it squeaked through her fingers, and her skin was rubbed raw pink in some places. Then she stood under the shower, letting the burning jet stream soothe her, easing her tense back muscles. She also got a good chance to look at herself.

Charlie never really thought she was a drop-dead gorgeous girl-- but that didn't mean she thought she was ugly either. She had kept her weight under control, and her body more-or-less fit-- when she wasn't in her room or with her father she was doing some sort of thing to give her naturally-tall body a workout. It gave her something to do. It took her mind off of decay and guns and suicide and madness. _Wish my tits were bigger._ She thought glumly. _And I hate my ass. _Despite so, she smiled a little anyways. Dad had always told her that while looking was a lot different then _being, _it still made all the difference.

Charlie had never had a boyfriend. She was still a virgin-- but her hormones were about to reach their peak and everytime she saw a good-looking boy in the street she always thought, _man, I wonder if he would hook up with me?_ Of course, she knew little to nothing about romance, just maternal love-- if you could call the kind of love her father nurtured her with maternal. Still, all the same, she craved another person's contact, and she wanted someone's hands on her skin and to compliment her and admire her.

She flushed at a thought she had and then turned off the shower, getting out and drying herself off, looking at herself in the cracked mirror that had several brown stains on the corners-- she couldn't figure out if they were shit or blood from the previous owners. She prodded at some zits on her face. She had several outbreaks every now and then and she had enough blackheads to be worried about. There was one irritating one just under her right nostril. She pinched the hell out of it until it burst. Satisfied, she checked her teeth. God, she must have not brushed them in a week or so. It wasn't like she exactly had the energy to take care of herself, let alone taking the time to brush her teeth for several minutes.

She brushed the hell out of her teeth until her gums bled a little. She was washing her mouth out with Listerene, slipping her skimpy legs into her pants. She made a mental note to pick up a g-string-- just because she wanted to feel sexy, instead of feeling like the daughter, the helper, the little kid. She put on the rest of her clothes, and then put on enough foundation to make her face look just as spotless and perfect as any other movie's stars. She often thought, privately, that if she ever got old enough, she would go to cosmetics school and become a hairdresser. Or a makeup artist. She hadn't really thought about the next couple years inbetween now and then, but hell, come whatever may.

Dad had stolen for her a very expensive stick of purple eyeliner-- his favourite colour. She slicked it on, mimicking the professionals she had seen on the tv before her father put someone's head through it. She had top-notch products, all supplied by yours truly, and she found herself enjoying experimenting. She was putting on this white-sheen lip gloss when her father banged on the door. She almost popped out of her skin. "Jesus!"

"No, it's your dad." he giggled. "The hell are you doing in there?"

"Getting ready."

"Hurry up then! I was starting to-uh, think--ah, haha, that you had dipped out the window on me." he chuckled. Charlie pulled her hair back in a loose knot at the base of her neck and put her things away, slipping on her jacket. She walked out the door and almost crashed into her father, who was standing there expectantly. He looked at her, and the most oddest of looks came over his scarred face.

"Dad?" Charlie put his jacket in his hands. He slid it on, still staring at her. "Dad, the hell is wrong?"

"You look just like, ah- _ahha, ha_-your moth_er_." he said, lightly cuffing her neck. "Beau_tiful_." he grinned, but there was something very deep in his eyes. "Ah, there you go again, being all _frowny _on me." The odd thing in his deep eyes was gone, just like that, and he less-then-gently pushed her out of the way. "Why so serious?" he walked into the washroom and slammed the door.

She put on her shoes, sliding on the sunglasses her father said it was imperative she wear. She knew the rules-- stay the hell away from any sort of authority, or news figure. Don't do anything to identify yourself. _You're the only girl I got now, ya know._ She went out the door, heading west through the slums of Gotham, feeling more alone then she ever had in her life.

------------------------

Walking all the way to Gotham mall was quite a job. By the time she reached there, by means of back roads and rarely used streets, she made it there around four. Her father had no curfew for her-- as long as she made sure that he knew she was still alive.

Gotham's mall was huge, with every single little imaginable located within it. She stepped into the busy place, milling her way through crowds unnoticed. She trolled around until she found the coffee shop, entering it and ordering an extra large espresso-- god knows she would need it for the walk back, if she couldn't get a taxi. She picked up the paper as well, nestling herself down in the middle of the restaurant. The best way to avoid attention is to be in the middle of the action, she had learned.

She glanced at the paper for the first time and cringed. In huge letters, it proclaimed GOTHAM ORPHANAGE IN RUINS-- JOKER STRIKES AGAIN! It went on for about three pages. There were only four suvivors. Charlie stopped at the part when one of nun's recounted that there had been grenades and bombs filled with nails and shards of melting-hot glass. She flipped through the pages, becoming more and more sullen about the current state of her hometown. Corrupted police, mob wars, crime on the rise.

She finished her coffee fast and left. She walked around, just enjoying the feeling of being close to people; even if she had never seen any of them before, she felt comforted by their presence. It could feel like she was dancing with the devil, all alone, but who was the devil?

She went into a gift shop, feeling strings of pity and remorse play for her father. She wanted to get him something, not anything fancy or expensive, just something nice. Just for him. She passed through small gifts, arts and crafts. Nothing struck her as something he would like. She didn't want to get something to make him laugh-- she wanted something that he would always be able to use. Something that would be very useful. She found herself out of the gift shop, heading into an expensive jewellery and accessory store. She hunted around, politely declining any help offered by the staff.

And then she found it. At the counter under the cash register, she looked through the glass container and she found a smile on her face. The price was enough to make her mouth drop open, but it was worth it. The casheir, a prim-and-proper man (probably the manager), unlocked the case and removed the delicate silver watch. It was a thick Rolex, made of the finest steel and ebony. He carefully wrapped it for her, sealing it in a box and giving her a fancy bag that must have cost at least thirty dollars alone.

"Ah-- it's okay. I don't need a bag." She smiled. His eyes glinted good-naturedly behind his steel frame glasses.

"Of course." she forked over whatever money she owed. Then, she put the box in her purse and was on her way, a little more of a bounce in her step. She headed to Victoria's Secret, indulging in herself. Her father didn't tell her how much she could and couldn't spend-- she felt like a giddy girl all over again. She bought herself some fresh, clean pants, severals shirts and quite a few sweaters, keeping cheap but making sure that she didn't go tacky. She bought a pack of cigarettes (hence through a fake ID, courtesy of the Joker). The ID didn't go any good for her to smuggle herself into a bar, but it worked well with grumpy store cashiers.

She left the mall around six, a half before closing time. She barely managed to hail a taxi, but she did so. The ride back 'home' was a quiet one; the driver was from Turkey and anything he said she could barely tell because of his accent. She didn't really know _why _he would want to move to a place like this-- Hell, how _anyone _would want to live in Gotham.

She made it home fine. She was surprised to find it seemingly empty. She dumped her purchases on her rumpled bed, and then slid the watch on the couch where her father usually slept his nights, when he _did _sleep. He wouldn't miss it. She wondered into the kitchenette. There was a piece of paper lying on the table, with something written on it. She picked it up, scanning it briefly before groaning, the good feeling she had come home with suddenly draining.

_Charlie-baby,_

_I've got a party to crash. _

It was signed by a simple smiley face with an X for either eye.

-----------

review please.


	5. Role Models

When the police came through the front door, smashing it in with a battering ram, the SWAT team moved in and Charlie stayed in the shower, clutching her Colt and the note her father had left her. She could hear muted yelling, intense conversations, and the sounds of heavy boots swiftly pattering all over the place. Tears ran down her face as someone kicked open the washroom door with a loud splintering sound, sending pieces of wood flying everywhere. The oddly-frightening face of a masked SWAT crew member looked through the hole, and he raised his gun and kicked the door almost clean off his hinges.

She raised her gun, halfway between attempting to shoot him or herself. She thought about her dad and didn't. _"PUT YOUR WEAPON DOWN!" _The cop bellowed, advancing fast. She dropped it without a fight. She didn't want to die. If the police were here, her father was alive (or dead) but most definitely in capture. She knew if she fought back, she would be killed. She curled up in the bathtub, trying to cover her face, so they wouldn't see her tears, although it was a futile attempt. Rough, gloved hands gripped her wrists and yanked her violently out of the bathtub, throwing her to the ground. _"PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!_" The cops screamed. There were more of them in the washroom.

One of them slipped a pair of handcuffs onto her wrists, tightening until she thought the steel was going to cut into her skin. She was still crying when they pulled her out of the house. The only thought in her head was, _where's my dad, what happened, i'm going to DIE--_ And then she was in the squad car, two bluesuits pushing her in head first. Radio walkie-talkies crackled and echoed, and it sounded like a helicopter was blowing over the hide-out. How did they find out? Her father would never rat out anybody, _anybody-- _he enjoyed the pain of torture too much. Let alone, rat out the very place where his only daughter lived.

Being in the back of a cruiser was not something she hadn't experienced before, but it still scared her shitless either way. She curled up in the corner. The two cops driving were absurdly silent, staring straight ahead. One was fingering his shotgun, glancing in the rear-view mirror at her every now and then. Contempt and hostility echoed in his gaze and she felt a great swell of terror. What if they just murdered her? What if they just pulled over right now, threw in the gutter and plugged a bullet through her skull? Would anyone try to stop them, if they knew who she was?

She had never realized how _alone _she was, in the back of this police cruiser. Where could she run too? Absolutely_ no one. _No one except her own father; who was god knows where, and she didn't even know if he was still alive. She didn't dare to ask the police how or where her father was. She sat crumpled in the back of the cruiser, her face and head burning. _What if I never see him again?_ She thought, total fear and panic shooting up from her toes to the roots of her hair. She covered her eyes, feeling sick to her stomach.

It was all over.

She was placed in a cell, pushed in by the same blue suits as before. Jim Gordon stood nearby, his face pale but his eyes glittering with something along the lines of triumph and relief. Complete, utter relief. But being an intelligent man, his mind clicked and whirred like a clock, going over every single possible plan or idea that came to mind. He stood there, with his cup of coffee, sipping the steaming beverage. Charlie was crying, most likely for her dad. He felt a lot of remorse for her. He approached the bars and after a minute, when he had her full attention, he spoke.

"Charlie," his voice was soft. She cut him off.

"_Where's my FATHER?!" _She shrieked. Her eyes were as red as a tomato, her skin white as paper.

"He's alright. He's on another floor. He knows you're here."

"I want to see him." she said sharply. Her voice cracked violently.

"You will."

"What happened?" she asked after a moment. Gordon sighed, slowly explaining the story.

The Joker had shown up at one of Bruce Wayne's fundraiser parties. God knows why, but he seemed determined to antagonize and taunt Wayne until he completely snapped. The Batman had showed up after three people were shot. The Joker's thugs had planted bombs all at the front entrances. While people were streaming out and the Batman had restrained the Joker (knocking his jaw out of place and breaking several fingers), anyone that tried to get out through the doors were blown in several different directions.

As Charlie heard the story, her mind worked quickly through her hysteria. Her father would not get caught over something like that. He must have _planned _to get caught, God knows why. What the hell was he planning? Gordon cut off her thinking with his next sentence.

"We're looking at a very, _very _long run in Arkham, Charlie." he said gently. She didn't answer, just stared down at her shoes. She had cleaned them earlier before going out to the mall. The last thing her father had said to her, was that she had looked just like her mother. He never talked about her mother. Never. She looked at Gordon.

"Can I have some water?"

"Yes." Gordon walked over to the cooler, taking out a paper cup and pouring a generous amount. He unlocked the cell and stepped in. He watched her carefully, years of experience telling him clearly that she wasn't going to try to fight him, or hurt him. Maybe only hurt _herself_. Gordon handed her the water and she gulped it down. "Not too fast, or you'll throw it up." She didn't answer, but slowed down either way. She handed him back the cup. Her fingers brushed his and they were wet and cold. He felt another stinge of pity for her.

"Can I see him?"

"No. Not right now."

"I want to see him now."

"Charlie--"

"I want to see him right _now,_ or I'll kill myself!" she yelled. "I'll swallow my fucking tongue! Let me see him _NOW!_" Gordon calculated all possible paths, and then sighed, defeated. He had kids. And he knew the pain of being torn away from his own father and mother.

"Alright." She looked up at him. Now she was surprised, she must have thought she was actually going to have to swallow her own tongue. The surprise faded and relief flowed in. He didn't put her in handcuffs-- she wasn't going to run now. He led her through the GCP, past other inmates who rattled the bars of their cages and howled.

"SETTLE DOWN!" Gordon roared, "ALL OF YOU!" The inmates slowly went silent. Charlie had a sudden new respect for the tiny Gordon with his soft voice and shy ways. He definitely had a set of lungs on him. They stepped into the Major Crimes Unit and there he was, in all of his glory, her father sat in a highly-luminated cell, tapping his hands against his knees in some sort of unknown rythmn. His face was completely emotionless, but the dark hollows of his eyes didn't seem as dark anymore when she stepped into the room, and she felt an intense wave of relief wash over her. He looked more or less fine. Perhaps a little agitated, but only she could tell that.

Gordon cleared his throat. There were at least seven or eight blue suits and Lieutenant Hughes, who looked like he was about to bust a blood vessel as he stared at Charlie. "I want everyone out of here. _Now._" he said sharply. "Now!" he barked, after no one moved. They all filtered out. Hughes grabbed Gordon's sleeve on his way out.

"The hell are you thinking?" he hissed, a vein popping in his temple. Gordon removed his meaty hand.

"What I think is right. _Get out_." Gordon said, complete authority in his voice. Hughes slammed out the door and waited outside. "You have ten minutes." Gordon said, leaning against the door and giving them some privacy.

Charlie walked straight up to the bars and grabbed them, pressing her face against them.

"Dad, you dumb _motherfucker_, what were you _thinking?!"_ she said. The Joker smacked his lips and stood up, walking over and stopping directly at the bars. He placed one hand over hers, squeezing it hard.

"Come here." he said. She moved her face as close as possible to his.

"Don't _freak out,_ don't lose your mind. I mean, look who you're talkin' too." he grinned. "I, uh, have a little _plan_, just something small, that's gonna turn into something _big._ You think those plastic walls in Arkham are gonna _stop me?_ I mean, I can't go anymore, uh, _crazy,_" he laughed. "In those, uh-- ah, rubber rooms." He chuckled. "I'm gonna be _back,_ give me, uh, around a month, and Charlie-baby, _daddy's back._" he wheezed out a laugh. "Now listen _closely._ You've got a few, ah-- _chores _to do."

--5 days later--

After a private court hearing, the Joker was shackled up and sent off to Arkham. As an escaped, highly-dangerous psychopath on the lam, he was simply just re-read his sentence (albeit _much _longer then before), and he left the court room laughing. Everyone knew with heavy hearts that he would find a way. He always found a way. Charlie had been moments away from being slotted into the foster care system-- however, it was hard to find any candidates who wanted to look after the Joker's _daughter._

Then, one man stood up for her. Charlie had been sitting in Gordon's office, her legs pulled up to her chest and she stared out the windows. It was sunny in Gotham for once. The light made her eyes ache. Gordon was on the phone. Over the past few days, they had started to have some sort of understanding between them-- Gordon really _wasn't _Satan reincarnated, and Charlie _wasn't _the psychopathic mirror of her father. In fact, Gordon found that he could somehow relate to her-- she felt lost in an ocean of violence and rape.

Gordon hung up, thanking whoever was on the other line, and knitted his fingers together and looked at Charlie dead on in the eyes. After a second, he spoke.

"Charlie, I found someone who's willing to take you in." he said, giving her a smile, in an attempt to brighten the mood. He waited for her to say something. She just nodded. "He's a very good man, and he's donated much to the city in terms of technology and... other such things." he was about to say donations to crime-fighting, but he had to be careful with his words. He still did not fully trust Charlie; she had been quiet and not very polite to anyone, and he knew she could just as easily be playing a front, that she just was as sadistic and cruel as her father. "You've probably heard of him." Gordon said, sighing. He rubbed the top of his hand.

"Who's he?"

"Bruce Wayne."

----

Wayne showed up in a stretch limosine. Gordon had kept this quiet, _quiet,_ for he didn't want Charlie or Wayne to be swarmed with news reporters and flashing cameras-- he wanted to keep Charlie's new location as much as possible a secret from the media. He couldn't afford to have any more blood on his hands. Wayne came into the GCP, as stunning and drop-dead-gorgeous as ever. Charlie shook his hand. It felt like a cold, limp fish in Wayne's powerful, warm grasp.

"I'm Bruce Wayne." he said.

"Charlie." she said back. She never had a last name to offer. Her mind buzzed and whirred fast. She was going to live with Bruce Wayne. Her new _'father'_. Furious rage and hatred rose within her. She had no desire to become Charlie _Wayne. _Whatever she had needed from her home was now in an old suitcase sitting at her feet. She stood still, staring at the handle, while Wayne signed papers, papers that would basically legit her adoption to this man. She prayed her father would get out _fast. _

Bruce offered to take her suitcase for her, but she declined. She hitched her purse higher up her shoulder, gripped her suitcase and followed Bruce out of the GCP into the sunlight that so rarely shone onto this depressing city. There was a stretch limosine parked in front of the building. An elederly man was standing by the car door. As she followed Bruce down the stones steps, the man opened the door and introduced himself as she got in.

"Ms Charlie. I am Alfred Pennyworth." he said grandly.

"Hello." she offered a nice smile. He ushered her in and she sat on the most-probably expensive leather seats she had ever rested on. Bruce sat a fair distance from her, looking straight ahead. She observed him from the other side. He looked extremely well-built and fit his Armani suit very snugly. He most certainly had the features that earned him the name Gotham's Playboy-- she tore her eyes away and stared out the tinted window. They passed by stores, restaurants, dozens of people walking around, couples holding hands, women with children, construction workers carrying 2/4's up and down wire ladders.

Bruce didn't talk to her much. In fact, not at all. Charlie was secretly grateful that he didn't. She could barely speak right now, to begin with-- she couldn't stop thinking about her dad. God, she hoped he was okay. Would he be okay? The last time he was in there, the male orderlies used to punch him around while he was under the influence of drugs or strapped down. The worst part was, no one would believe him or care. She hoped Bruce would let her visit him. If she had to go through a _month _without having any sort of prior contact to her father she would simply _rot_, she could already feel an inkling of depressed swirling in her head.

God, she didn't know how she was going to get out of this one.


	6. Alone

Even though Charlie had formulated a plan in her mind that would secure her from any emotional battle she may encounter, she couldn't help but show astoundment as they pulled through the gates of Wayne manor. It was amazing. The high, gothic building loomed overhead like a seedy ghost, its many windows either covered with deep curtains or shining some sort of light within that looked dusty. Charlie wondered if there were any ghosts in its many halls. She craned her neck to see more, as Wayne smiled at her gently.

Alfred opened the door for her, and took her bags without asking. Charlie didn't mind. She hefted her purse higher up her shoulder, looking up at her new, temporary home. It was stunning, tragic and beautiful.

"So you like it?" Bruce said behind her. She glanced over her shoulder.

"It's nice. Really nice." he let out an easy chuckle.

"Let's go in." A cold wind blew, rustling fallen leaves. Charlie followed him up the steps, admiring the statues mounted on the banisters of the huge stone steps. A screaming angel, her hands lifted up towards heaven. A dark goddess, pointing straight forward on the other one, frozen forever. It was beyond stunning, and this was just the outside.

Inside within the first room she encountered, Charlie would have to say that it was the lobby, or something. The marble floor was a black and white checkered pattern, the walls a dark lilac that framed the moody atmosphere. A massive winding staircase led up to the higher floors, shoved a bit farther back, and there were many hallways and doors that led to god-knows-where. She stood on the doormat which could have been a fancy carpet, looking around, trying to take everything in at once. "This was once a castle." Bruce remarked, startling her out of her gazing. "Way back when. Alfred can tell you all about that, though." she nodded.

"Ms Charlie." Alfred had reappeared. "Would you like to be shown into your room?" Charlie nodded again, and after a moment's hesitation, she followed the old man towards the stairwell. Bruce walked into another room, not following. The stairs were plush carpet, and Charlie didn't even want to touch the cherry mahogany banister, in fear that it would crumble underneath her fingers. Portraits and paintings decorated the walls that seemed to reach on forever. They came upon what must have been the middle floor. A long hallway going in either direction showed itself to Charlie. "This way, dear." Alfred said, heading to the left. Several doors down, one was already open, and he ushered her in.

"Wow." she said. Her bedroom was about the size of their entire _home_. A large queen-sized bed was pressed against the far corner, with a large wardrobe and what appeared to be a walk-in closet. Charlie had never been inside a walk-in closet, especially none as big as that one. She didn't even have enough clothes to fill half the wardrobe. There was a dresser with a large mirror that seemed to have not a speck of dust or grime lining it. The floor was a deep, plush carpet that felt so good on her feet, although she had neglected to remove her shoes. Alfred smiled beside her.

"It took me all morning to clean this up." he set her suitcase down. "I'll send the other bags up soon. Shall I leave you to get settled in for a few minutes? Master Wayne would like to...hmm, how do you teenagers say it?" he looked at her. She shrugged.

"Get to know each other?" He nodded.

"Exactly." he said grandly. He checked his watch, one prim eyebrow raising into his wrinkled forehead. "I must go prepare lunch now. Are you hungry?"

"No." she said dreamily, picking up her suitcase and walking into the room. "Thank you. No, thank you." she said, catching herself and reminding herself of whatever manners her father had taught her. What she really wanted was to be left alone. She didn't want to talk to anyone, see anyone or even hear anyone-- she just wanted silence and she wanted to stand next to the massive window and stare out across the beautiful plain that was Wayne manour. It was snowing outside.

"Alright. We'll be downstairs. Just come find us."

"Okay." Alfred nodded, bowed slightly and then left, shutting the door softly behind him. As his footsteps dissipated, silence began to take over. The large clock on the wall ticked onwards, maybe forever. She wondered what her father was doing. She wondered if he was okay. She set her suitcase on the bed and threw her purse down, kicking off her shoes and sinking into the bed. It must have been made of pure goose-feathers, or something. She ran her hand over the cotton spread. The bed sheets were the colour of lavender. It made her heart ache. She crossed her legs and opened her suitcase, and lifted out the one thing she still had of her father's.

They had confiscated the watch she had bought for him-- investigators and police had talked to the clerk at the store and now Charlie would never be able to enter that store again. She was released the only posession he had on him that wasn't life-threatening-- his jacket. When she asked where the rest of his clothes went, they had been so soaked through with blood and gasoline no one wanted to take a chance. She pulled out the jacket. She still hadn't pushed back in the silk pockets. The CSI team had investigated every stitch of this jacket-- pulled it apart and then put it back together. Most of them probably hoped he would never be able to wear it again.

A sudden chill seemed to enter the room and Charlie hugged the coat close to her body. She couldn't even smell her father's _scent _anymore, of gasoline and nicotine, and a slight acrid stench of hair-dye and grease paint. She sighed miserably. Now it smelled like hospitals, police stations, coffee and cotton swabs and hateful thoughts. She fell back on the bed, letting her small frame sink into it, wrapping her whole body around the jacket. This was going to keep her sane. Only this.

She was staring at the cieling, her mind ticking through every possibility and calculating every possible solution. She came up with nothing. Zilch. Zero. What her father whispered into her ear had filled her with a new hope, but as she thought about what a _fortress _Wayne manour was, her hope was now fading away completely. She decided she had better go downstairs and find Bruce, in case they came upstairs wondering what she was doing. She put the jacket away, back in its case, and shoved it under the bed. Paranoia drifted through her from the head down, going through her legs. What if they searched through her suitcase, and thought it wasn't appropriate for her to have the jacket? She stayed kneeling on the floor for a few minutes, biting her lip.

"Charlie?"

She squealed and spun around, eyes wide. Her heart was in her throat. Wayne was standing in the doorway. The door was open wide. How the hell did he get in there without her hearing him even opening the door? How was long he standing there for? An even more terrifying thought reached her mind-- _what if he can see your thoughts? _A wet chill shot through her internal organs. "Are you okay?" Wayne sounded genuinely concerned.

"_Jesus_." she said. "Don't _scare _me like that!" He smiled a little.

"My bad. Sometimes I forget my place. Alfred said you weren't hungry."

"Yeah. I'm not."

"Can I ask why?"

"Dumb question." Wayne's brows quirked.

"Ah yes. I guess. With your dad and all." he said it freely and openly. Charlie found herself actually relaxing a little. "Well, if you're, uh, you know, hungry later, Alfred's just brought in some chocolate from Costa Rica... they put chili in it or something." he seemed to be acting coy with her. But the temptation of chocolate really did make her remember that she _was _hungry; she refused to eat anything that came from the GCP, whether from Gordon or not.

"Okay." Wayne nodded slowly, making it obvious that he was thinking of something to say. This man confused Charlie. She had expected him to be arrogant, pompous and air-headed, just a brainless zombie in a hot body swimming in money. Instead, she could see intelligence, even if she wasn't exactly professional at reading a person's body language-- but living with the Joker, you learned these types of things fast.

"Well, I'll leave you be, then." he left the room, shutting the door smoothly behind him. Charlie found herself staring at it for a few moments, and then she followed him out. He was already almost at the stairwell, and he looked back at her with a little smile that came close to irritating her. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah." Charlie hesitated before walking towards him, following him down the stairs.


	7. Gunmetal Clouds

Charlie was sick.

She was leaning over the toilet, clutching it like she was drowning, clear spit and vomit rolling out of her mouth and slopping loudly. She rested her chin on the lip of the toilet, gagging. Clear snot runners fell from her nose and her eyes were as red as a demon's. She just couldn't stop _crying_, and she wondered if she was going insane. Were all those years of neglect and a half-assed attempt at becoming normal getting to her? Was she _dying?_ She coughed, choking on the disgusting taste in her mouth. She sluggishly crawled her way to the sink, turning on the tap and gulping down water like a dog. She prayed Wayne or Alfred wouldn't walk in the door. She was being loud enough.

Why was she throwing up? Was that chocolate bad or something? Bruce and Alfred seemed alright, but she had been in her room for the past three hours. She had talked a little with them, choosing not to discuss anything pertaining to her father or her previous life-- and to her relief, they left it alone. Instead, they spoke about trivial things-- weather, the house, Wayne Enterprises. Charlie could tell Wayne was being careful with what he said as well when he spoke to her. Suspicion bloomed in her stomach.

She lay down on her back, staring at the cieling. She had not turned the lights on, but dim light from the next room casted an eery glow along the walls. She shut her eyes. She saw the Joker in a padded cell, sitting on his lumpy cot and maybe thinking, maybe dreaming. There were a lot of maybes, a lot of ifs, and a lot of whats. Her stomach rolled over lazily and she turned onto her belly, resting her sweat-soaked head against the cool tiles, trying to get rid of some of the heat.

She slept. And dreamed. In her dream, she was flying, high above her old neighbourhood. She remembered it best in her dreams. She could see her parents, way down below, waving at her. She was _flying_, and it was exuberant and beautiful-- the clouds felt like cotton, smelling of cotton candy and blushing against her, through her. She circled back to her house again, looking eagerly for her parents to show them how well she could fly, how much fun it was, and how they should come up with her!

But her parents were gone. The house was gone. A different one stood in its place with two different parents on the front lawn. Both were staring at her with some sort of horror-shock on her face that bothered her. For a moment, Charlie thought she had only flown a bit too far from the house. She circled the neighborhood for what felt like hours, and found nothing. _Nothing. _The world had dropped out of sight below her, and now it was just an ugly, gunmetal grey mass of clouds below her. The world was gone, and she was alone in the sky.

Alone.

She woke up with a snap, finding herself sprawled everwhere and staring up at Alfred. He didn't look very surprised, but was concerned. Her stomach still felt like there was acid in it, swishing around in there. Her mouth was so dry, it hurt to breathe.

"Are you feeling better?" Alfred asked. Charlie thought about it for a moment, and then shook her head slowly. "Well, you'll give yourself a bad back lying on the floor. Come here." he grabbed her wet hands and pulled her up with amazing strength that she didn't know he had posessed for such an old man. She swayed for a second, feeling all the blood that had pooled to her head go back to their proper destinations. "Time for you to go to bed, dear." Alfred let her walk to the bed. He was standing by the door as she sunk into it. It felt like sinking into a cloud--

_gunmetal grey mass of clouds coming to swallow you_

a harsh chill travelled through her and she said good night to Alfred with a lot of fear in her heart. She was no longer tired, even though it was quarter past twelve. She layed on top of the covers for several minutes, before crawling across the spread and reaching under the bed, pulling out with some difficulty, the suitcase. She opened it and pulled out the Joker's jacket, putting her arms through the sleeves and wrapping it tightly around herself, curling up in the center of the bed and staring out the window. The clouds had covered the stars and the moon and she could see nothing.

She had worn this jacket several times before-- sometimes when the Joker and Charlie had moved into a 'new' place, they would end up trying to stay warm on the couch or the only bed, and he would let her wear his jacket and use the ratty thin blanket and lie closest to the heater, because he didn't want his baby to catch a cold. They could sleep back to back, and Charlie was always comforted by the jacket, and always comforted by the sound of his breathing-- it reminded her that he was still there. Still _alive_, inside. Charlie sometimes thought, even at that young, tender age, that the sound of his breathing was the only thing keeping her sane.

Tonight, the only time she had brought up her father was when she timidly asked Wayne _when _she could visit her dad. Never use _if,_ they will definitely say no. She was half-expecting that she would have to blow the coop because he was going to say no, but to her surprise Wayne smiled and nodded and said Charlie could see him in a few days, after he had 'settled in'. There was a look in his eyes that made her feel weird; as if she had _seen _that look before, even though she had never met Wayne in person before now. You can't really tell what a person is like just by watching him on TV or in pictures, Charlie thought later, Everyone's got the TV persona, like Tony Stark.

She didn't feel so sick now. She drifted, letting the soft ticking of the clock whir her to sleep.

Charlie woke up early. Early enough, that no one was up (as far as she knew). For a moment, she wondered why her bed suddenly was so soft, and why the air was so fresh and so clean. She wondered why there was a clock ticking. She rubbed her eyes, sludgy, dreamy panic in her belly, and then her eyes opened and she remembered where she was. She wrapped herself even tighter in her father's jacket, looking over at the clock which she would eventually come to hate. It was quarter past five in the morning. She tried to sleep again for about half an hour, planning to sleep the rest of her days away until her father got out, but her mind had fully awakened and she was deeply curious about her new surroundings.

She rolled out of the bed, and as the mellow sunlight hit her, she realized how dirty she felt. With some disgust she noticed there was vomit stuck in her hair and drying on her face. She walked around the room for a moment, discovering the bathroom. A large bathtub awaited her. She sprung it hot, hoping the roaring fountain of water wouldn't awake anybody. She doubted they would come into the washroom if she was having a bath... but what if they thought she was trying to drown herself? What if she _did_ try to drown herself?

Holy god, she was getting paranoid. She went back to her room, sifted through her suitcase and pulled out a pair of sweatpants, something soft and comfortable. These pants were worn and slightly baggy; a thin purple line went up the seams. Her dad had gotten it for her himself. She pulled out an old sweatshirt her dad had said her mom had worn when she was pregnant for her. She cherished this odd, hot pink sweater. She wasn't a fan of the colour pink, but the big goofy words 'Conquest' in curly purple writing across the bosom always made her smile. Her father sometimes remarked (Especially if he got into the whiskey) her mother was quite a conquest. She never tired of the story of how her parents met.

She brought the clothes into the washroom, stripped down and slithered into the tub, turning off the gushing faucet. She leaned back, letting out an audible sigh of complete relaxation. She stayed in the boiling heat, unminding of it. It felt like the most heavenly thing she had ever experienced. Closing her eyes, she listened to the faucet drip for several moments, feeling her tense muscles slowly relax. When she felt very calm, she opened her eyes and frowned. She reached over and grabbed the pack of cigarettes she had still had on her during the house raid, and she had been permitted to keep. She was sure Alfred or Wayne wouldn't get to mad; if they even noticed. She lit up and breathed deep.

She let the smoke roll out of her nose like she was a movie star. She looked at the high, marble ceiling, her thoughts wondering, processing her current situation. So now she was staying at Bruce Wayne's, multi-billionare of Gotham, and she was going to see her father the day after tomorrow. That was the only thing she felt she could look forward too; she didn't have any interest in talking to the men. She was uncomfortable and out of place here. She could never adapt to this type of lifestyle. She groaned a little, rubbing one puffy eye and let the minutes tick off.

After the water began to turn cold, Charlie climbed out of the tub, dried herself off and looked at herself in the mirror. She wrapped a towel around herself, despite the fact she was alone. Sometimes dad pointed out that she was a little _too _thin-- "You're going to get me charged with child neglect!" he once said, laughing. The irony of the situation was something of a private joke that was rich with black humour. Charlie turned away from the mirror, put on her clothes and dried her hair, tying back the mess into a sloppy knot.

She left the bathroom.

And she floated about the mansion for the next two days, until the day came when Alfred was gently shaking her and telling her that it was time to go visit her father.

God knows how that is going to turn out.


	8. Dead House

Charlie's head _pounded._ She rested her head against the window, butterflies bumping in her stomach, trying to crawl up her throat. Her palms were sweaty and she kept wiping them on her jeans. Wayne sat motionlessly next to her, staring out the window. Charlie's tension was making him also tense, but he didn't show it. He remained emotionless and humble.

Alfred pulled up to a stop before Arkham Asylum's looming gates. Charlie looked out the window. Through the splatter of rain she could dimly make out the looming architecture of the asylum. It brooded over its land like a wounded ghost, housing its black secrets. A chill thumbed her spine and she wet her chapped lips down. Fear squeezed sweat down her forehead and neck and she wiped her nose, sniffing. She was choked.

"Charlie?" Wayne's voice, somewhere beside her. She didn't answer, just stepped out of the car as Alfred opened the door, holding the umbrella over her head. The rain splattered against it and roared in the gutter. It sounded like a stomach growling. Satan's stomach? Or her father's? Charlie was quickly buzzed through the gates and Wayne accompanied her to the front doors, both of them moving quickly to avoid getting drenched. The doorman let them through and they stepped into the warmth.

Charlie was blinded by the white light of the asylum. Flourescent lights scorched the eyes, and Charlie was reminded of her experience in Gordon's interrogation room, where the lights had resembled lasers. Nurses and doctors and police officers and guests walked about, some moving fast, others slow, but none of them happy. Misery and depression and the smell of medication bloomed in this place. It grew on the walls like a fungus. The lights were bright, but it was so dark.

Wayne signed Charlie in at the front desk. The tough-looking receptionist looked at the paper Wayne had filled out, looked at Charlie, and a glimmer of distaste flashed through her steel grey eyes. Charlie stared at her for a moment before turning away. The receptionist picked up a stamp and _bam!_ ACCESS GRANTED was stamped in blood-red ink across the page. She passed the paper back to Wayne, smiling professionally.

"Enjoy your stay." she said hollowly.

"I'm sure we will." Wayne said under his breath. He retained directions from the receptionist, and he let Charlie be escorted by an orderly donned in a white suit. They took a flight of stairs up. Someone was screaming in another hallway.

"Don't worry about that, meh dear." The man spoke. He was tall, black, and very built. He smiled down at Charlie. "Is this your first visit?"

"No." she replied.

"Who you visiting?"

She didn't answer for a minute. Their footsteps echoed loudly in the stairwell. The man cocked his head back, waiting for an answer.

"The Joker."

"Hm. Are you a university student? 'Cause sometimes we get 'em, wanting to write some paper on him."

"I'm his... family."

"Ah." The man nodded and grinned again, flashing those perfect teeth. "No questions, then." They reached the top of the stairs, now puffing. "Good exercise." Charlie smiled back this time. He pulled out a large ring of keys and unlocked a white door, which opened to a long hallway filled with closed off cells. He led Charlie through, a steady hand on his shoulder. A loud alarm rang as the door slammed shut behind them. An orderly with a pump-action shotgun was next to the door. He had eyes of cold green and they disturbed Charlie.

She saw spit-streaked faces pressing against the slit windows of their prisons doors. One wagged his tongue at her obscenely. The man gave him a warning look and the pervert retreated. "Don't worry about Lucas. He was always a lady-killer."

Charlie found herself bursting out in horrified laughter. The friendly orderly grinned at her again. "By the way, my name's Joe. And here you are."

The Joker's cell was the farthest from the others. Joe produced another key from the ring, and unlocked the door and it clanged open. Before Charlie stepped inside, Joe stopped her. "Now listen, honey, if he starts getting a little crazy, you bang on this door and I'll be here in a flash to let you out. Okay?" Charlie nodded.

She stepped into the cell. Joe shut and locked the door behind her.

The room was about ten feet by ten feet. Directly in the middle of it were bars. Her father was standing at the bars, his hands curled around the steel cylinders and smiling.

"Hey, baby-girl. How's my- ah, _uhm_, my bundle of _joy _doing?"

"Okay." her voice was watery and she felt like a fool. The Joker tsked.

"Don't-- don't _cry_, I hate it when you _cry_, it's embarass_ing_." he chuckled. A few fat tears glopped out of her eye and rolled messily down her cheeks, collecting at the corners of her mouth. She stood there dumbly.

"Da-- _daddy,_" she mewed, walking forward. She hadn't called him daddy in years. "Please get out of here." she was whispering. The Joker cocked his head back, licking his lips. The walls, the cieling, and the floor were all white. Just _white_.

Her father looked so much different with his makeup peeling almost all the way off. He looked frail and emanciated in his white asylum uniform. She hadn't had a chance to cut his hair so it was longer then usual. He didn't let them wash his makeup off, although it was about to crack off. She could see the indented stitches, and the scars, quite plainly. She reached the bars and stood as close as she could, wishing that she could just thrust herself through them and bury herself in his embrace.

"Patience is a _virtue_, sweets." he replied, dangling his hands from his wrists. His wiry fingers tapped a rhythmn on the metal. "I _told _you, you _gotta _wait for what you _want_."

"_Dad_, I can't stand it at Wayne's! They're fucking crazy!" she said sharply, trying to regain control. She found herself gaining the upper hand, slowly, and that made her more braver. "Stop goofing off and get the hell out of here!" The Joker smacked his lips, rolling his eyes.

"Baby, I can't just _grow _wings and fly outta here. I'm not _Houdini_." he said, waving her off and walking back to his uncomfortable-looking cot. He sat on it. The bed springs creaked with his weight. He put his powerful hands on his knees and surveyed her grimly, cracking his collarbone loudly. "So how's Bruce Wayne's penthouse?" he sneered.

"Fine." Charlie responded tightly. Her father's tongue flicked over his lips again.

"Don't _sound _fine-- ah, tell me, is it a... uh, a _fortress?_"

"More or less."

"I..._see._" he chuckled at some private joke. Charlie shrunk over to the single white chair in the room and sank down in it. The Joker opened his mouth to speak after a moment, and Charlie cut him off. She didn't know what he was going to say, but she could bet that it would be some sort of twisted head game that would leave her bawling her eyes out and in hysterics, and that was something she did not want to do; she could not show weakness in front of Wayne-- her father told her that. Showing weakness is the most stupid, irresponsible thing you could ever do.

Especially in front of her own father. So she prattled on about useless, mindless stuff, trying to fill up the holes the panic and misery had left in her head. After half an hour, she had to leave. Joe rapped on the door and told her five minutes in advance. Charlie rose and strode over to the bars. Her confidence had returned. Her father approached the bars as well, standing, smiling, his luminescent eyes focused on her and her alone for once.

"Bye, daddy." she said, softly. "I-- I..._love you_." she said. The words felt hard coming out of her mouth. She wasn't used to saying them, let alone saying them to her father.

"Keep _smilin_', dollface." he replied. "And-- ah, _remember _what _daddy,_" the word rolled off his tongue and seemed to drip all over her fingers like acid. "Said... children should be-- uh, _seen_, and not _heard._"

Charlie blinked, and then a slow smile crept over her mouth. She kissed the tip of her finger and pressed it against her father's nose, and then Joe and another orderly entered, Wayne standing behind them. The Joker looked over Charlie's head as she was led away. He didn't look at his daughter as she glanced back at her father one last time. The Joker was staring down Wayne, and the billionare held his gaze, calculating but humble-looking. The door shut and Charlie was cut off from her father once again.


	9. Lose Yourself

It was still raining when Charlie slipped out of her window. She stood on the windowsill, her backpack sagging, trying to pull her back. Her knees were shaking. Rain soaked her hair and splashed down her face, mingling with sweat. She bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood. She swallowed. Her throat hurt. She stood on the sill, looking around, searching for anything that could hurt her if she fell to far or to close. She pulled her hood up and looked down at the thirteen foot drop and lost quite a bit of her nerve. She was still questioning even trying to escape from Wayne manor, but it had gone to far now; it was either now or never. She considered her options; if she leapt like this, she would definitely break her legs. Frowning, she turned around and crouched down, gripping the edge of the sill with her life. She had to hurry.

She slid herself down until her feet were hanging. She craned her neck. Five feet. She could do it. She dropped and landed right in Alfred's garden. The dirt sucked in her shoes and she braced herself for the jarring impact, and she gritted her teeth and crouched low. She hadn't seen any gaurd dogs before, so she wasn't worried she was going to get mauled. Now all she had to worry about was that Wayne or Alfred might look through the window and see her capering around the property in the rain, trying to find the hole in the fence.

Charlie had last seen the Joker two weeks ago. The visit had left her depressed and miserable. She had wondered the property and estate, and just last weekend, as she had been circling the fence, she noticed that two bars were fractured outwards, as if something had tried to bust through them not too long ago, trying to get out. It was about a quarter mile from the house, and before it was a small forest of pines and junipers. There was a path that Alfred had showed her, unassuming that she would escape that way. It led right into the highway, which would go around in a perimeter and lead her right back to the bowels of Gotham city.

Charlie was, not for the first time in her life, running away. Where she was running away too, she had no idea. Charlie never had friends to grow up around with. She had never been to parties, she had never been on a date. She didn't know how to socialize. But, she did have one skill that most kids didn't have (or pretended to have), and that was street smarts. She knew her way around Gotham like the back of her hand, and she knew Metropolis very well and she was right at home in Basin City (well, most people refer it to Sin City, once you get down to Oldtown). But she had to get there first, and she wasn't stupid enough to think that she would actually get away with hitch-hiking all the way across the state. Wayne would find her.

What about her father? Charlie was sure he would find her. She was also furious with him. Her sadness had dissipated and for the first time, maybe in her entire life, she questioned him. Why? Why was he like this? Why couldn't he be _normal?_ Why couldn't he just let Charlie have a normal fucking life? He had never tried to stop Charlie was going out at night-- his only caution that she didn't get arrested. And yet, Charlie had stayed with him because she had feared for him and loved him.

She didn't want to leave-- but she had too. She couldn't spend the rest of her life waiting in fear, frightened that any moment he could end up dead and Charlie would have place to go. She wasn't leaving him yet-- no, she wasn't-- but she had to get away for a while. Long enough to sort herself out, get her mind right and really find out who she was. She was terrified that maybe everything she had ever hoped herself _not _to be was actually everything she really _was,_ and that was what the Joker wanted, and she wanted to please him, more then anything else.

She capered over to the gate, keeping low, feeling like an idiot soldier behind enemy lines. She skirted along the fence, keeping eye on the windows. They were so big. If anyone looked out of them just at the right moment, she would be busted and it would be all over from there. Wayne would be furious. She would probably be moved into the foster care system. Then she _would _never see the Joker again, and her mind screamed at her for that risk, and at the same time she battled back that maybe it was for the best, because it was getting harder and harder to choose between right and wrong.

Her sweaty hand clamped over on the broken pipe, and she squirmed her way through. She couldn't help but feel elated when she got on the other side. She landed roughly on her side, and the feeling of the ground underneath her brought a crazy grin to her face. _The grass IS greener on the other side! _she thought hysterically, getting up and darting towards the path and the cover of the trees, the cool night wind whispering and kissing her face.

Ten minutes later she was on the highway. Half an hour later, she was getting out of the old Volkswagon and thanking the elderly man for giving her a ride. She stepped into Gotham and disappeared into the alley smoke and shadows.

---------------()--------------

They never turned the lights off _completely. _There was always one light by the door. It was soft enough not to be blinding, but bright enough to stop someone from sleeping. It was causing a nervous tick in the Joker's right eye. He stared at the ceiling, completely motionless, as still as a statue. He had retreated into his mind and was lost deep within its palace, observing memories. His most fondest were of Charlie.

When he looked at his daughter, he saw many things. He saw himself and he saw her mother, he saw his baby sister who had died of typhoid before she could barely walk. He saw hope and he saw anger, and he saw fear. She was a quiet child, gentle and loving, who would feel bad after killing a mosquito. He remembered going up to her room when she was three or four, and she would be bawling her eyes out over some imaginary monster that wanted to eat her toes, or something absurd like that. If her mother was too tired to wake up and go see her, the Joker would soothe her and calm her and check her entire room. He wanted to keep her safe. He hated seeing her cry.

If there was anything that frightened Charlie more, though, at that tender age, was clowns. She was near-phobic of them; as soon as she saw them, she would hide behind her father's legs and sometimes cry. She said clowns were in the closet and in the vent, or sitting on the desk. Evil clowns with long, long claws. Grown-ups couldn't see them. Only Charlie could. Her mother had joked one time that she better not watch _It _unless she wanted to be slotted into the psych ward.

He wasn't going to try to lie about it, he _had _hit Charlie before, when she was older and he had transformed into the supervillian he was today. Smacked her around something good, sometimes. When he hit her, he wasn't looking at his daughter anymore-- he was looking at Jean, his wife, and he saw Jean's fury and her disgust instead of his daughter's tears. His lips pursed together and his tongue prodded the lumps and bumps on the insides of his cheeks. The last time he had hit her had been a while ago. He couldn't even remember the reason why now, but it seemed relevent. He remember her head smacking the tile and how she curled up in a tiny ball, thin streams of blood leaking from underneath her skull and tracing the square indents of the tiles, inking them in a bright feverish red that stood in contract against the puke green-colored tiles.

He wondered where she was now. If she was here with him right now, maybe he would hug her. Just quickly. He didn't know how to apologize. He didn't know how to say thank you and his biggest problem was the most dangerous of all-- zero empathy. He felt that he _could _feel empathetic towards Charlie, for he did remember being hit, but by whom he could not remember fully. He speculated that it was his father. Anger rippled through him. He turned sharply and lay on his side, facing the wall.

-----------------()-----------------

A train roared by. Charlie sat near the tracks, feeling the vibrations travel through her body. She smoked a cigarette, looking up through the smoke spewing from the train's spout, looking at the black sky above. They would have discovered her gone by now. The sun peeked out from inbetween the clouds. A soft sigh left her mouth and she wondered what her father was doing. Would they tell him she had been reported missing? Charlie suspected that he wouldn't find out until much later, or only after she had been found, dead or alive. She knew she couldn't stay on the city limits for much longer, and she couldn't haunt the docks, because everyone knew that the heroin dealers ruled that area after midnight.

Despite her father being the Joker, she really didn't have anywhere to go. Ugly brown moths beat against the street lamps as she walked down the street, splashing through puddles and keeping out of eye contact with anyone who looked at her. She didn't know where she was going; she faintly hoped that maybe she _would _be caught and maybe they would put her in Arkham. Then at least she could be somewhere where she was more or less comfortable. Somewhere that took care of her.

She shoved the thought of her head and paused before an elderly post office building that looked like it was ready to collapse on itself. The dawn around her was dusty with unseen threats. She felt like she was standing in the aftermath. She walked into a rundown hotel sagging against the Gotham rec centre. She walked past the pretty lady at the front desk without giving her a glance. She needed to change out of her clothes, possibly even burn them. She had no intention of getting caught, even though the plan hadn't really fully complete itself in her mind.

Charlie stepped into the public one-shitter washroom, locking the door. She looked at herself in the mirror. She hadn't put on any make up, and her hair was a frizzy mess. She pulled off her damp sweater, shivering, and washed her hair as fast as she could. She was drying it under the hand dryer, when someone knocked on the door. "Hold on a minute!" she called politely. The knocking subsided. She raked a comb through her hair, before pulling it back in a sloppy chignon. She was changing into black sweats when the knocking came, this time more hostile. "Hang on!" she snapped.

"Hurry up!" a woman answered on the other side, sounding bitchy. Charlie pulled on a black shirt and her mother's bright pink sweater. The thick fabric comforted her. She was putting on eyeliner when the person on the other side started hammering on the door.

"Hold the fuck on!" she yelled.

"Bitch, get out of there!" the woman yelled back. But the hammering subsided, and Charlie was quiet. She could hear the woman walking back down the hallway. She finished her make up and grabbed her backpack, walking out the door and leaving the hotel through the back entrance. The world around her was waking up, but the air still reeked of pollution and lost souls.


	10. Pause Rewind

disclaimer: i do not own batman, only my character charlie.

authors note: well it certainly had been a while.. anyways i was watching the dark knight today and i was like, holy shit, i have all these ppl reviewing my work and i'm not updating.. not very cool. So I got inspired and I know how the story is going to end.. so sit back and enjoy the ride..

----------------{2 Years Later}------------------

Ah, Metropolis. A state-of-the-art mind-blowing feat. The skyscrapers still intimidated Charlie, though. She stood in the window of her small apartment, enjoying expensive cigarettes and strong coffee. Seventeen years old, Charlie had not seen her father, the Joker, in two long years. Oh, it had hurt at first. She had cried and sobbed alone, nearly died under the weight of the guilt and grief. After she had escaped Wayne's watchful eye she had fled the city almost immediately. She remembered the day very vividly-- leaving the hotel washroom and exiting into the early morning, the air reeking of pollution and lost souls. As she stood outside there, hands shoved in her pockets, she knew. Knew very clearly that if she did not leave, she was going to die. Either by another's hand, but most likely her own, she was going to die.

So, she had panhandled for several hours, earning enough to get a subway ticket straight to Metropolis. She thought of her father everyday. Living on the streets for several months, she got into a homeless shelter and landed a job as a waitress at a small, quiet cafe in the calmest part of Metropolis. She stayed out of crime and did not affiliate with criminals. She watched her father's saga from the papers. After she had gone missing he had disappeared from his Arkham cell, leaving a trail of blood and carnage. Gotham suffered terribly. The joke wasn't funny anymore. She missed him. Oh Lord, she missed him. For a long time, it felt like a part of her was missing.

She clung to his memories, their experiences together, but eventually... his voice faded from her mind, replaced by a voice on the radio, or the TV. Eventually, his face faded as well. Now she only knew a mere shadow of the father she once had, and everytime her mind wondered to her past, her heart panged bitterly and she dropped the thoughts quickly. She turned from the window, looking over at her small, but comfortably established apartment. She lived in Slunty Springs Apartment Cp, a weird name but whatever, you can't have everything. God, had it been hard hiding from Wayne. A few times, she thought he almost had her-- but she drastically changed her appearance, the best she could.

What was once shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair had been dyed black, and stretched down her back, and she kept its natural wave. She had taken up tanning on the beach, and she had grown quite dark. She had dropped her baggy, hand-me-down clothes and traded them for tighter, more prettier clothes, but still keeping to her violet-black colour scheme. It was one of the subconscious ways she kept tightly to her father. She had lost her gangly teenage awkwardness in the last year, and in her last few months of adolescence she had become stronger, slender, powerful-- her muscles filled out and she had the same wiry, sly frame as her father. She was the spitting image of him--without the make-up.

She walked over to her bed, untying her bath-robe. Time for work. It was seven-thirty in the morning. Her clothes were cleaned and pressed. She worked at _Hypnotized_, an extremely wealthy restaurant that was prestigious and almost religious to dine at, she had discovered. If she tried to give a shit, she could rack up over one hundred dollars in tips alone, in one night. Her pay was steady, and it kept food in her fridge, cigarettes in her purse, and nice clothes on her back. Even if the roof leaked sometimes, and the shower faucet sometimes spat shit instead of water-- it was managable. And she experienced true real happiness, and independence, for the first time in her mostly miserable life.

She got into the knee-length black pencil skirt, the cream-coloured blouse and black feminine vest, braiding her hair in the mirror, letting it hang over her left shoulder. She did her makeup, grabbed her purse and bounced out the door, in a good mood this morning. She had slept good despite her neighbor's new 'friend'-- they had first drank what must have been a vat of whiskey, and they were literally _screaming._ But she had slept through it, and she awoke refreshed. She was a loner in Metropolis, but like it was any different in Gotham. She thrived on the independence. She did not even mind it when she saw young couples kissing in the park, or friends walking up the street together, laughing and sparkling in the sun.

Charlie stepped out onto the sidewalk, her heels clicking pleasantly. Summer was always beautiful here. The streets were packed, and she blended in perfectly with the other civilians. She didn't mind being shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers. She hopped to the curb and flagged down a yellow taxi, and as soon as one pulled into the curb she jumped into the back. "Where ya going, honey?" an aging Italian man was behind the wheel.

"_Hypnotized_, the restaurant. Baltimore and Gertrude avenue, if you don't mind."

"Not at all." he kicked the car into drive and they pulled into the steady stream of jacket. The route was fast and simple and clean, and five minutes later she handed the cabby a ten dollar bill and told him to keep the change. "Thank you sweetheart!" he said happily, tucking it into his safe box at the base of the gear stick. Charlie pulled open the door and entered the restaurant, smiling at Trixie, the other waitress and the closest thing she had you could call a friend here, and to Mark, the owner.

"Mornin', doll." Mark said, hanging Charlie her apron. The high-class restaurant was half full with mostly elderly, well-dressed or in widowy dressing. A few tourists sat in booths by the windows, reading the Metropolis Times under the mellow lighting. The checkered floor was spotless and squeaked when you walked across it; not a speck of dust to be seen. The air was fragmented with ginger and other earthly herbs. Charlie loved this place. Adored it, even. She could spend her whole life here.

She walked into the back to put her purse away, and the first thing she was the paper sitting on the employee's coffee-break table. What she saw on the headline made her blood run cold.

_**JOKER ON THE RAMPAGE-- GOTHAM IN A PANIC!**_

_Where is Batman? Where is Joker's offspring?_

_Gotham was placed in a state of panic early last night, after an unscheduled broadcast that was limited only to the people of Gotham City. The Joker, Gotham's most dangerous and infamous terrorist, arrived on the scene of the ruins of Gotham County Orphanage, which was never repaired due to death-threats from said clown. He had been holding a young girl, approximately 17 years old, hostage for at least eighteen hours. She appeared badly injured. "It was quite a disturbing sight," Long-time crime fighting veteran Commisioner Jim Gordon comments, looking weary from a long search and stake-out, only to prove that the Joker had foiled them once again, re-appearing in a location at least ten miles away._

_He only had one request. From an unnamed source we recovered his demands: "If my darling daughter is not returned to me within forty-eight hours of this broadcast, I am going to blow up the entire subway system of Gotham city. You should all know that I will always find a way to laugh... and if by then she has not been returned to me, I will start to murder every single teenaged female in Gotham in the most... TERRIFIC ways. Toodles!"_

_Bruce Wayne, previous guardian of the Joker's only child, has reluctantly released a picture of Charlie, the only name she had went by. No other family, friend or persons besides Wayne and the Joker have a clear idea of who she is. A picture of her is beneath:_

And there, Charlie saw with a sickening lurch, was her picture. Back when she was fifteen. It must have been taken by a photographer when she wasn't looking-- her face turned slightly to the left, eyes wide and afraid, hunched over and uncomfortable. Wayne's hand was on her shoulder. He was leading her to the car. A wave of vertigo dropped over her and her hands began to shake. She forced herself to continue.

_If anyone has any information on her whereabouts, please contact Gotham MCU at 1-353-556-3454. The FBI, CIA and both the Gotham and Metropolitan police--_

Charlie was out the door.

--------------------

Sitting on the train, Charlie was a ball of nerves. She had only ran to her apartment to change fast, had flushed the key down the toilet and burned all of her records-- ID, papers, lease forms, everything. Charlotte Cooper ceased to exist. Charlie pulled out whatever money was left in her account, and hopped on the first train to Gotham, sitting in the back alone, staring out the window. Her excellent mood had faded. Now she was terrified. Why was he doing this? Couldn't he just come _look_ for her himself?! Why was he drawing her back to him? _Why _was she even returning? She knew-- better then anyone-- that the Joker was a man of his word. He had not heard what happened to his hostage, but she was sure it was not pleasant.

People were going to die, unless she returned. Her hands twitched nervously in her lap, her fingers twisting and twining together. She felt like she was going to cry. All the guilt, shame and fear she had buried suddenly rose up like a tidal wave, threatening to collapse her frail state of mind. She had worked so _fucking _hard to get here, to accomplish her own job, earn a living, raise herself, all by herself-- and now she was being dragged back to the one man who had ruined it all.

And still-- she wanted to go back. She missed him. She _loved _him. He was her father.

Always.

Two hours later, she was getting off at Gotham Central Train station. She stood for a moment, taking in the old scent, the old surroundings. It was like stepping back in time. She hefted her purse higher up her shoulder, and slowly let her hair down, letting it fall down her back. The knot it had been in was making her head hurt. She needed to think.

There was only one place where he could be. Only one.

She started walking towards Gotham central street.

----------

revieww pleaseee


	11. 8 Miles and Running

disclaimer: i do not own batman/dark knight, only my character Charlie

--------------------------------------------

Gotham had not changed a bit. Charlie didn't know whether to be pleased or displeased. It was warmer here, in the summer, but it still had that bitter, chill undertone. She pulled her jacket tighter together. Was Gotham always this sinister? The people here had this wary, predatory look in their eyes, more introverted and suspicious. No one trusted anyone here anymore. The streets were in shambles. The buildings were becoming neglected from the depression Gotham city had fallen into. She saw a police car on nearly every street, and that made her nervous. How was she supposed to get to him, when these cops could be following her already? She did not want to be locked in a cell-- but she didn't want someone's blood on her hands, either.

For a moment, I wondered if he was going to kill me. Perhaps I had made him so angry that now he had to kill me, to rid me of my presence from his world. Or maybe because I knew too much, and he feared betrayal. I frowned to myself. No, he wasn't stupid. He needed me, then. For what, though, I had no idea. I paused when I came closer to the street that led to the old complex-- where we had lived before he had been captured, I ran away, and disappeared off the face of the earth for two years. Would he be there? Yes, he would definately be there; where else would he be? Was he waiting there for her, right now? She still had over 24 hours left. Maybe exactly 24.

But she couldn't lurk around here. She went in the opposite direction, deciding to take the long way, going in a perimeter around the city to gather her bearings, to prepare herself. She was nervous, and antsy, and afraid. Cigarettes didn't help this time. She felt very alone again, and she didn't enjoy it. She folded her arms across her chest, walking and winding through the crowd, tears blurring her vision, making her slow down. No one noticed her frustration, and that was fine. She came across the street to the Gotham canal, which was thankfully empty. She leaned against the bars and looked down into the water, feeling nauseous. She knew she was drawing attention, crying in broad daylight, but she covered it with her hands the best she could. She couldn't help it, she felt like a lost, little girl again and it frightened her.

Charlie bit on the inside of her cheek until she tasted copper. She steadied herself, took a few deep breaths, and looked out over the water with more confidence this time. She could do this, no problem. Just go in there, and don't show your fear. Charlie would not dare show him fear. She would show that she had grown into a woman who could look after herself. She could live without him now-- but she wanted to make sure, as well, that he knew that she still loved him. He was her dad, after all. Charlie was also curious to know what he wanted. He looked down at her reflection in the water, letting one hand hang down towards it. Was she looking at the carbon copy of her mother or father? She brushed a long, ringlet-locked piece of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. _Oh, dad..._ Charlie thought miserably, closing her eyes for a second.

"'Scuse me?"

Charlie jumped, almost toppling over the railing! She sat up abruptly and turned sharply to the right, one hand clutching the railing tightly and the other in her pocket, wrapped around the little knife she had with her. A few feet away was a man with messy black hair, large brown eyes, and broken-faced good-looks. He looked like a young Al Pacino. He was wearing dark brown cords, a rather hip belt, a white wife-beater and an off-white shirt over that, undone. He looked a little nervous.

"Yeah?" she asked stiffly, her face stony. "What you want?"

"You okay? Thought you were gonna be sick, all of a sudden." He replied, shrugging. "Just thought I'd see what the problem is?" Charlie forced herself to relax, and she smiled, brushing her hair back from her face.

"I'm fine, thank you, though." she smiled even wider, but the man didn't look convinced.

"Well. Okay." he said, uncomfortably. His voice had a slight, high-pitched nasal squeak to it. Charlie thought it was... kind of cute. Her father didn't come her number one priority anymore-- this man's really cute smile did. Then she remembered why she was in Gotham, and she turned away, making to walk away. "Hey!" he ran in front of her. "Well, at least tell me your name. In case I see you again, ya know. Maybe we can... uh, go for a drink. Sometime." she opened her mouth to reply with a definite yes! but her tongue got caught in her throat. If she said her name, he might make the connection. He tilted his head forward, looking expectant, a little confused too, maybe.

"What's yours?" I asked lightly.

"Sonny. Wortzik. Here, you can... reach me here." he pulled out some paper and a pen from his pocket, and quickly scribbled his number on it, and passed it to me. Charlie smiled at him and tucked it into her purse.

"My name's..." Charlie took a deep breath. "Charlie."

"Charlie... nice name. Well, I'll let you go. Bye." he took one last look at her, and then shuffled off, down the opposite way. She lit a cigarette, and smiled after him. The butterflies were darting back and forth in her stomach. Did she just get her first date? She turned around and silently squealed with joy, but her mood quickly faded. There was still her dad to take care of, and the price of blood was high over her head. Charlie put a hand to her face and steadied herself. It was time to be reunited with the man that made her what she was today-- a confident, independent young woman. She stiffened her back and lip, and headed straight to the old complex, not stopping for anyone or anything.

--------------------------------------------

Charlie had been _starving, _she had discovered_. _Now she was sitting at a McDonalds, sipping slowly on her disgusting coffee, staring out the window and not looking at the empty burger wrappers. She could sure eat, sometimes. She was no longer thinking of Sonny-- she was thinking of old memories. One such memory, made her cringe. She remembered her father, the Joker, the one and only, descending from the stairs while she lay at the bottom, writhing, clutching her stomach.

"_why-- _why do you make me do-- ah, _it_, Charlie-baby?" He got to the bottom and plunged his foot into her stomach. The wind just starting to return to her lungs, it shot out again and she twitched in agony on the floor, unable to breathe, her eyes filling up with tears. "Some_times_, you _really, really, _piss me off, babe. Ah-- haha, but I gotta say, you sure look _funny _flopping like a-- uh, a-- fish on the _floor!" _he laughed in her face, and left her lying on the floor, while blood slowly spread out from underneath her head from cracking it while falling down the stairs. He didn't try to comfort her.

Charlie closed her eyes and forced the memory away. She remembered sitting in the back of stolen cars, still a little girl, maybe only ten or eleven, her head in the Joker's lap and fast, fast asleep, maybe, his fingers stroking her hair gently, snapping whenever the driver made a noise. "You're gonna _wake up-- _ah, uh, my _girl_, you shithead." he would growl. Or, that one time he personally held up a pizza shop 'cause Charlie was _starving_. He brought the whole damn pizza back, along with a (slightly red-stained) chef hat and a cat back for her. She didn't know where he got the cat, but it was an amusing thing until the Joker shot it in one of his rages.

She rolled over a particular memory-- that had been one of the most awkward moments between the two. At thirteen years old, raised only by men, Charlie had no idea about the menstruation cycle. So when she woke up one morning and found her bed-sheets and legs bloody, she started _screaming_. She sat there and screamed and screamed, terrified, convinced she was dying. The Joker had nearly kicked the door down, barging in with a gun in one hand. "What's wrong?" he demanded, and then looked at the bed and her tearful faces, switching back and forth a few times. "W... oh. God damn it, Jean." the Joker had wrinkled his nose and, unsure of what to do, dragged his daughter off the bed and put her in the bathroom. "You are fine." he said, starting to snicker now. "It's just-- ah, part of a girl's life. Guess what. I'll go... ah, find someone who can explain it. B-buh-but you're not _dying._ Promise."

Charlie had nodded, and he wiped her tears away and laughed, and she ran a bath and then one of his goon's girlfriends came in. She had been really nice. Her name was Linda and she was kind of like a biker. She told her about periods and the menstruation cycle, gave her some tampons and that had been it-- but it had been an awkward crisis and for a while, the Joker was slightly paranoid everywhere he sat down a patch of blood would be there to greet him.

Abandoning her reverie, she sighed, finished her coffee, and let McDonalds. Fueled on those memories and adrenaline and all the carbs, she headed straight to her old home, which she had not laid eyes on in two years. She wondered how weird it was going to be. A shiver passed through her body-- one of reluctance. But she couldn't go back now-- she had come too close, and all things aside... she wanted to see him again.

The old complex had not changed a bit. She paused at the back of the street, looking up at old warehouse. It was clunky, beaten down and in an even worse condition then it had been two years ago when she had last seen it. She wondered if the police would come here, to wait. This is where she got arrested, right? But had they known they lived there? Unease trickled in her. This was risky business, in broad daylight. Maybe she should wait until night? Charlie thought of the Batman. No, she had to go now-- the Batman would find her during the night, unless she was safely with her father. She looked at the semi-full street, and then casually crossed, sneaking around to the back quickly. Her heart was hammering in her ribs, tattooing a frightened beat. Her mouth went dry, and her pupils dilated. As she put her hand on the old knob, and twisted and pulled, it opened with a creak, its hinges in dire need of oiling. She pulled the door open halfway, terrified of the darkness inside.

She stepped inside. The door shut behind her.

The air was thick, perfumed with musky scents and old, rusty metal. She couldn't remember if it had always smelled like that. She looked up. The air was dusty, dancing in the light that shot through the high windows. She could see the loft, where she had lived. It had two rooms, used to be offices, but she had spent a long time sleeping on the little cot. Her father had used the other side of the upper level to plan and make his creations. Memories surged through her mind, others she remembered, others she had completely forgotten.

Standing in the middle of the warehouse, she shut her eyes, and relief and frustration muddled her mind. He wasn't here.

She left the stale, rusty place, closing the door quietly, leaning against it for a moment. She forgot to care for a moment, and let the tears come. She had actually been looking forward to seeing her father again-- but he was not here. He wasn't anywhere near here. Sighing, shakily, she slumped down and held her forehead in her hand, grinding her teeth together in frustration. _Where are you? _she thought, frustrated. How was she supposed to get to him? Standing, Charlie shook herself and walked away from the warehouse, throwing her head and shoulders back and trying to regain her courage. She had been defeated, but he was in Gotham still, somewhere. And she would find him before those 48 hours were up-- no one was going to die because of her.

Even though living with the Joker meant murder, brains and stolen money, she could never get used to the idea of killing someone, or having someone's blood on her hands. It depressed her. She thought that everyone deserved an equal chance, no matter what the sin-- if there even was one. Half the time, she found, there wasn't. But this was no time to contemplate philosophies. Gnawing on her lower lip, she came back to Gotham's central streets, turned left, and ran directly into Jim Gordon.

He spilled his coffee all over the ground and he stooped down immediately to pick up the cup. "I'm terribly sorry, miss--" he looked up and froze. His eyes widened.

"Fuck." she whispered, panic surging through her.

"Charlie--" she turned on her heel and _ran_. She ran like a devil, pushing through people, adrenaline pushing her faster and faster through the streets. She couldn't hear Gordon yelling anymore, and that must be a good thing. She hadn't even checked to see if he was in pursuit of her. The blood was chugging in her ears-- she only had priority: get the fuck out of here. Back to Metropolis? No, no, they would be waiting for her there. Charlotte had disappeared, and she could not return. Gordon had seen her; he would tell everyone. Charlie was screwed, alright, and she knew this very well.

When she finally stopped, she was several blocks away. She slowed down to a fast walk, trying not to attract attention as she entered a phone booth, shutting the door securely. She was trying to regain her breath when she heard sirens wailing, coming in her direction. Her legs froze up and her breath stopped in her throat. She picked up the phone and pretended to look through the phonebook, praying they would go by. The sirens got closer and closer, until they seemed almost deafening. They were right behind her-- and then they were passed. She watched as two squad cars flew by. Gordon was in the passenger seat of one of them. He did not even notice her.

Momentary triumph went through her, and she exited the phone booth and ducked into a department store, heading to the furniture section, welcoming the smell of fabric freshener and clean, cheap imitation leather. She collapsed on a polyester couch, alone, and furiously scratched her face. She had a bad habit of doing that-- hitting or scratching herself when the shit went down. When her pinky finger came back to meet her eyes with a little bit of red on the tip, she stopped. No use tearing her entire face off. But now that her face was stinging painfully, she could think clearly again. She had just escaped from the GCPD, but how long was she going to be able to run from the Batman, when he found out? Where the hell was she going to go? She couldn't find her father, he wasn't in the one place she was sure he would be. She felt like a fool for rushing into it.

After several minutes, she exited the department store. She wondered if she should ditch her jacket and put her hair up, at least try to change her appearance-- but that wouldn't help. It wasn't the cops she was worried about-- she had spent her whole life avoiding them-- but it was the Batman that scared her. He could be above her right now. Charlie felt paranoid, and she went up the street, following the direction the police went. She blended into the crowd and stayed there, and waited.

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review please, but critique would be nice. i'm trying to improve my writing, so point out the flaws lol.


	12. Queen of Spades

Left Spine Down

disclaimer: i dont own batman/dark knight, just my character Charlie

------------------

Charlie dared to book a hotel room. The Gotham Inn was a refreshing, comfortable place but it did little to soothe her paranoia. She lied about her name and age, checking in as 21 year old Harleen Wayne, for one night only. She payed with hard cash, and she was given a key and while she took the elevator up, she tried to come up with a plan. It was very hard. Her resources were limited to almost nothing and she had nowhere and no one to turn too. The bomb threat for the subway was serious, and dangerous, even though it would be closed for as long as it took-- but knowing the Joker he would probably destroy something-- a college, a pre-school, a daycare.

Charlie slumped down on the burgundy blankets and forced herself to relax. Where in God's name could he be? She stil lfeared his hostility, her retribution for abandoning him. In the melancholy, stale silence, she churned over possible ideas. Maybe she could lead him to _her_. Play her own little game with him, for once. She had his intelligence, but she was unsure if she had the actual balls to pull something like this off. It could easy capsize and then a whole lot more people would end up dead, this time over a simple accident. It was a risk but she had no choice. Switching on the television, she flipped to the news network and watched intently.

As the sun slowly set over the horizon, the clock running out fast, Charlie developed a plan of action. Sitting in the growing dark, hands on her knees, she inhaled a shaky breath and walked over to the telephone. Picking it up, the sleek plastic sliding slightly in her clammy hands, she asked the operator to be directed to a local line, and yes, she would accept the charges. Once she was on a free line and the dial tone trolled in her ear, she made a few phone calls.

Half an hour later she was in Salvatore Malroni's little office. The Italian was observing her over steepled fingers.

"That sounds crazy, Charlie." he remarked. "Why should I put my life and freedom at stake over you?"

"'Cause I'm wanted all across the country. Think of the reward, Mr Malroni." Charlie's palms were clammy and she felt sick, weak and very alone, but she hid it the best she could. Confidence and assertiveness was the key here, and she intended to use it to the extent. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, clearly processing this fact. "Maybe half a million. Who knows. And the Joker won't come for you-- he'll only be coming for me." That was a lie of course-- Malroni would probably pay for handing the Joker's daughter into his arch-nemisis' hands, but like Charlie was going to tell him that. "Okay? Capiche?" he laughed.

"I don't see why not. It's not like I'm gettin' my ass kicked." he opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out a gun. He inserted a clip into it, pointed it at her shocked face, and pulled back the safety. "Hey, don't move. You want this to look realistic or what?" She slowly sat back down. "Girl, I'm not stupid. The Joker would have my head on his plate if I shot you. Hang tight." he picked up the phone and smirked at me while he dialed 911. There was an intense, 30-second interval of silence. "Hello, I'd like to get directed to someone at the Gotham MCU. I'm holding a dangerous criminal at bay in my office." Several seconds of silence. "Charlie. The Joker's kid. The one he wants. Or ya know, he blows up a coupla hundred people. Yeah, yeah, that one. Really? Thank you very much. Don't worry ma'am, I got a gun on her." Malroni hung up the phone. "I guess this better look convincin'." he stood up and walked over to me. I backed into a corner and tried to look crazy, while Malroni just poured himself a glass of whiskey and played with his gun until police arrived.

-----------------------------------------

"Aren't the tables turned." The low, gruff voice spoke behind Gordon, who turned to find the Batman gazing down at him. The room had gone silent, as cops stared at him in awe, fear or hatred. The vigilante paid no attention. Gordon sighed, swirling his coffee with his little brown stick. "Who turned her in?" They both looked at her. She was sitting in the _exact same spot_ her father had sat, her arms folded across her chest, her eyes in that darkened, almost-trance state that reflected the Joker so much it became almost disturbing. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't frowning either. It was an odd expression.

"Salvatore Malroni." Gordon said cynically. He observed Batman's questioning look, and shrugged. "We found him holding her at bay in his office. He wasn't injured. Neither was she."

"Why was she there?"

"No idea. But she's here now, and we're trying to locate the Joker. We've only got three hours left." Gordon glanced nervously at the clock. Three hours to midnight. "The problem is, I don't even know how to find him. Let alone get her to him." Gordon sounded a little weak. The stress was taking the man apart, and Batman lay a comforting hand on Gordon's shoulder.

"Gordon, can I have a moment with her?" It wasn't a question. Gordon nodded, and beckoned all the officers to follow him out of the room. They hesitantly (or eagerly) followed their commissioner out the door. When it was shut, and silence filled the metal room, Batman walked up to the bars and stared in at Charlie, who stared back at him with eyes that were fuelled with hatred, but a sly cunning he had seen in her father's eyes. He was _looking _right at the Joker, if he had been a woman. Charlie crossed one leg over the other, leaning back against the bars as comfortably as possible, lips pursing together.

Bruce looked at her, and remembered a frightened, skinny, confused 15 year old girl. Now, she sat before him, taller, filled out, dark, tanned skin, long, wavy black hair... the mediocrely pretty young teenaged girl had blossomed into a beautiful woman, and she was going to be a jaw-dropping stunner when she got even older. He sighed softly to himself.

"Why did you get Malroni to turn you in?" she blinked, forgetting to keep her composure at being discovered.

"What are you talking about?" she recovered quickly, however.

"You know what I'm talking about. Charlie, you're risking the lives of hundreds. Go to him."

"I can't _find _him. You think I want to be in this _fucking _cell?"

"Where have you been? After you disappeared from Wayne Manour, where did you do?" he asked instead.

"I'm not telling."

"Do you know where the Joker is?" she shook her head.

"No! And Malroni turned me in 'cause he's a dirty pig." she spat angrily, before turning away. "I don't want to talk to you anymore."

"When the Joker comes, I'll be waiting." Batman's voice echoed from the side, and when she looked towards him, he was gone, and she was alone.

----------{20 Minutes Later}----------

The explosion scared Charlie. It scared her so bad she dived to the floor and covered her head. Schrapnel, metal and flesh splattered into the room. Her ear-drums rang and screamed, her heart leapt in her throat. Smoke filled her nose and eyes. She coughed violently, tears filling up her eyes. She sat up once the rubble settled, clinking sounds of broken steel falling around her. Dust and rubble rolled off her shoulders around her. The air smelled like electricity and gasoline.

The lights had gone out, but one still flickered impatiently, like a moth batting its last flight. And through the shattered doorway came a sight so familiar yet so foreign now-- the Joker stepped through, his presence overshadowing everything in the room, including herself. She stayed on her knees, one hand over her mouth to stop from inhaling the dust. There was utter silence, except for his footsteps, as he approached the bars. He stopped, and placed one hand on the bars, curling his long fingers around it. He had not changed a bit-- same suit, hair, make-up. Although, she could see a few streaks of grey going through the green. She supposed time stopped for no one.

He grinned wide. "Look who's _back_."

"Dad?" she whispered, unsure. Was he going to kill her? Bust her out? She got to her feet, but her legs had turned to jelly. She kept her eyes on him though.

"C'mere." he extended his hands through the bars, reaching for her. Carefully, she approached him. Slowly, slowly. Eventually, his fingers curled over her shoulders and brought her closer to him. "My..._gorgeous_...girl..." he said lowly. His dark eyes were sparking almost violently, but she could see no malicious intent. Suddenly, he did not seem like the stranger he had become-- he was her father again, and she wanted nothing more then to fling herself into his arms.

"Let me out."

"_Ah-_ of... course." he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a set of keys. The ring left blood on his gloves. Charlie heard nothing outside the holding room-- nothing. Was everyone dead? Even Gordon? That didn't matter right now, though. The door clattered open, and she was free again, and the first thing she did was wrap her arms around his shoulders and hug him fiercely. It felt so... right. Tears came to her eyes and she began to cry. He rubbed her back. "Aww, it's okay, kiddo. _Daddy's here_." he emphasized the last two words. He rocked her a little, and when her tears subsided, she pulled away and wiped her nose with her palm, hiccuping. She took a step back from him.

"I'm s-sorry. I just... I just didn't know what to do, dad. I, uh-- ah, I went to Metropolis. If I stayed here, I was... I was gonna _kill_ myself--"

"Ah, ah, tatata, shh, shh, _shhh_." he said, lightly slapping her cheek with the back of his hand a few times. "Calm. Down. You're making-- ah, a _scene_." he giggled, and then clenched her face hard. "Ya know... for a minute there, I wanted to, uh... _slit _your throat." her eyes widened and she jerked back, but he was stronger. "Ah!" he chuckled. "Don't _try _that, you might slip and _break your neck._" the last three words were an obvious threat and she froze. Her heart started to hammer. She shouldn't have come here, he was going to kill her--! "Oh, calm _down_, you silly girl. Ya think I would _kill _my own child? I mean, ah, uh-- who's gonna continue my _legacy _after I die? Harley Quin?" He laughed. Charlie blinked.

"...Harley... Quin?"

"Oh, _Harley!_" he called, slipping his arm over her shoulders and turning her to face the door. A few seconds later, a shockingly beautiful woman slid inside, with a pump-action shotgun in one dainty hand. Her hair was long, perhaps once blonde, but now it was dyed green and purple and red, wild and crazy, barely containable. She was wearing a suit obscenely similiar to a harlequin-- red and black, queen of spades.

"_What can I do for ya, Mistah J?!"_

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review!!


	13. Strange Brew

disclaimer: i do not own batman/dark knight, just my character charlie

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Charlie had not forgotten about Batman's threat, but for the moment, it slipped her mind completely. Harley Quin beamed at her. "Oh, hey there! Ya must be Mistah J's girl! You're _adorable!_" She had a distinct Brooklyn accent, total New Yorker, born and bred. Charlie's face creaked into a smile. She slid out of her father's grasp.

"Nice to meet you...?" she extended her hand and Harley shook it with her free one. The grip was slender, soft, but immensely strong. She wrung it fiercely, and when Charlie brought her hand back, and her fingers hurt.

"Nice ta' meet ya too, hon."

"Enough chit-chat." the Joker said sharply, looking suddenly annoyed. "Let's _bail _before Batsy shows up."

"Ya gonna make him eat his tights, mistah' J?" Harley asked, as she bounced out after the Joker. Charlie followed.

"Dad!" she called. He paused, turning back to look at her. When she entered the hallway, she flinched and clapped a hand over her eyes instinctively, her stomach dropping to the floor. Several officers were splayed about cruelly. Most had their throats slit. One or two looked like they got shot in the head. One had his own special smile carved in--permanently. Blood was still seeping about the floor, she could almost feel it gathering around her shoes.

"Aw, don't tell me liddle Charlie's scared of _blood _again. You been gone _too _long-- ah, sweet_heart._" The Joker's hand wrapped around her wrist and pulled her hand down from her eyes. She looked at him, and swallowed her nausea. Time to get back to the way things used to be. A sudden thought occured to her.

"Hey, dad--"

"Ah, ah, tut-- _shh_, save your ques_tions _for later." he cut her off, before ruffling her hair. "Ooh, your hair looks _great _long." he tugged on a strand. "Not too fond of the _color, _though. It would be more... ah, theatrical... if you dyed it _green_." he laughed. Charlie smiled.

"Maybe. But let's _go_." she grabbed his sleeve and yanked on it hard, suddenly terrified the Batman would arrive, and take him away after she had just gotten him back. The Joker chuckled and followed his daughter and Harley out of the Gotham MCU, into the awaiting car idling outside on the steps. Harley leapt in the front while the Joker and Charlie got in the backseat.

"Straight shot into _space!"_ Harley said excitedly from the backseat, and the driver, wearing the familiar clown mask, peeled down the street. Charlie rocked back in the seat, but settled in, closing her eyes when she heard the police sirens wailing towards them. Her body tensed as she imagined the Batman dropping out of the sky, landing on the car and crushing the hood, and then tearing everything apart again...which reminded her of something,

"Hey, dad?" she asked timidly.

"Hmm?" he looked at her sharply, his fingers tapping an odd beat on his knees.

"Why... did you want me to come back?" He raised a non-existant brow.

"What kind of a question is _that?_" he ruffled her hair. "You're my _daughter_. Of course I wanted my sweets back. I waited, ya know. I waited, ah-- uh, a _looong _time. And then, one morning when I woke up, I realized-- _I don't know where my daughter is!_ I couldn't have that. So I had to get your attention _somehow._ I just wanted... my little _girl _back. And now here you are. And you won't be leaving again." he squeezed her shoulder hard, and she flinched a little. While she was happy, she didn't really like the last thing he said. She ignored it. She could deal with that later.

"Oh. Where are we staying?"

"A special little place Harley found."

"Who is she, anyways?" Charlie asked, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"She was my lovely doctor at Arkham. You remember Arkham, don't you?" he sneered and she nodded. "Well, the little doll fell _madly _in love with me. Who woulda' thought!" he laughed. "She got me out. Found me a place. It was her idea, how we would _get you back._ Ahem. Ahum. Hehe."

"I'm your new mommy now, Charlie!" Harley said from the front, twisting around. "We're gonna be one big happy family!"

"Shut the _fuck _up, Harley." The Joker said, yanking on her hair. Harley flinched, but giggled oddly and turned back around.

"She is... different." Charlie whispered lowly, astonished by the story. Her father wasn't very charismatic. She was surprised to hear she was a psychiatrist before-- she must have been Class-A crazy to start running around with the Joker, it was shocking she made it through med-school. Charlie watched her from the back seat, swaying with the sharp turns of the car, the thought that the Batman could only be feet away... "What about Batman?"

"Oh, don't worry about Batsy, sweet_heart_. I called up an old _friend _to distract him for us." the Joker reassured, patting her head. He was being very affectionate, something Charlie had never really experienced from him. The human contact from him pleased her, though. It was nice having someone care about her, even if it happened to be the most dangerous terrorist in the entire state.

"Who did you call?"

"Good ole' _Harvey_, he's such a class-act now. Real _screamer_." he laughed. "Don't worry 'bout it, sweets, Bat-boy won't find us _yet._ Turn _here, _you shithead!" he screamed, punching the driver in the back of the head. They swerved sharply to the left and Charlie looked out the window. They were near the harbour now, and there was a tall warehouse with a smiley face spray-painted on one of the doors. The car rolled to a stop in front of it, and Charlie got out of the car, pushing her hair out of her face and looking up at her new home. Great. It looked like it was about to collapse, the humid air from the ocean rusting the metal around it, turning it was strange, murky grey-orange. The Joker came up behind her and clapped her on the back, hard. "Ya like it?" he asked, grinning.

"Nothing we haven't handled before." she replied.

"That's my _girl._" he said, and Charlie thought she heard pride in his voice. He led her inside, and while Harley led me to my new room-- she shared the same room as the Joker-- and it was managable, with a dirty cot, the office desk still intact, pushed against the wall. A moth-eaten chair was pushed underneath it. There was a small window, tatters of what must have been a curtain on the verge of falling to the floor from the top sill. She sat down on the lumpy cot and looked up at Harley, who was still in the doorway.

"Ya like?" she asked. "I decorated it myself!"

"Oh. It's very... lovely."

"Great! Ooh, so, Mistah J said I had to have some _bonding _time with you. Ya don't mind if we have some girl chat? Woman to woman?" Charlie shrugged.

"Sure." Harley sat down next to her, her slight weight making the cot sink a little deeper. It creaked and sagged.

"Hon, can I say something?" Charlie nodded. "I know it must be _weird_, 'cause I'll be livin' with ya guys now. But, I just want ya to know, I don't really expect ya to call me _mom_. Just Harley is fine, okay?" Charlie nodded, again. "Great. I _really _love your dad, Charlie," she had a look of worship in her eyes that made Charlie a little uneasy. "And I want us to be happy! Maybe we'll be a happy family, someday. How would ya like that? You 'n' me n' mistah J, in a little house by the ocean, where no one ever heard of us!" she rattled on about her fantasy for a few moments. Charlie listened, politely. What she really wanted to do was talk to her father, catch up, just spend time with him for a little while. Two years was a long time, but if she was going to live with Harley, she better get to know her first.

"Thank you." she said. "For explaining that. I appreciate it." They smiled at each other. Charlie was a little relieved-- the woman looked like she had lethal killing force under that pretty skin, not to mention she was also dangerously crazy.

"Anytime, sugah. So, what you wanna do? Want me to do ya hair? I _love _doing people's hair. Yours is so pretty, and long. Do ya mind? It'll kill the time." Charlie shrugged.

"Sure." she slipped off her jacket, and Harley quickly ran to her room to grab a mirror. She came back with a full-body vanity, propping it up against the desk so Charlie could see her progress. She also had her little bag of cosmetics-- makeup, combs, brushes.

"I like ta' look nice. Hygeine and appearance is important, ya know." Harley brushed my tangled hair out, until it was silky and flowing. Harley did most of the talking, Charlie slotting in the appropriate 'oh really', 'yes', 'hahaha' and 'sweet' whenever it was appropriate. She curled Charlie's hair so it was extremely wavy with hair curlers and hair-spray, and a half hour later, even Charlie had to admit she looked very good. She let Harley use this sort of skin cream that made her tan really shine brightly, and experimented with makeup for a bit. The two shared cigarettes and then around one or two in the morning, the Joker walked inside.

"Hey, puddin'!" Harley said brightly, jumping off the bed.

"Out." he retorted, barely glancing at her. Harley left the room, pecking the Joker on the cheek. He ignored her. Charlie smiled.

"Hey, dad."

"I think you and Harley have had _enough_ bonding time." he said, walking over and sitting down on the cot. He wasn't wearing his jacket and Charlie was shocked at how thin and frail he had become-- his clothes hanging off him like a tunic, his cheekbones sticking out, his cheeks sinking in, along with his eyes. They were bloodshot and his pupils were very dilated. Concern enwrapped her.

"You don't look so good." she remarked, frowning.

"Whatcha _talkin'_ about? I always look good. Gotta be ready to enter_tain _Gotham city!" he said, smugly.

"It looks like you haven't eaten a decent meal in weeks." Charlie shot back, standing up. "C'mon. I'll make you something. The least I can do."

"Yeah, after disappearing for two _years_." he whined, following her out the door. The kitchen was shit-- just a dislocated, obviously stolen stove that hadn't been wiped in years, a couple chairs, an over-turned recycling bin, some dirty forks and knives lying around. Charlie pilfered through the shelves, managing to find an onion, a few potatoes, a box of kraft dinner, and to her delighted surprise, still fresh bread and garlic cloves. That, combined with some butter, she used a shitty, rusty pot to make mashed potatoes with onion, garlic toast and kraft dinner as the main course. The Joker ate it all, and Charlie noted that he ate quite ravenously. He was never that good in the kitchen. He mostly destroyed the appliances, instead of used them. Charlie sat down on the other chair across him.

"There's a few-- uh, beers in the next room. Grab me one. And one for your_self_."

"You're letting me drink?" she asked, delighted. She had grown fond of beer in Metropolis. Trixie, back at _Hypnotized_, invited Charlie over to her house a few times, where she had shown the Joker's daughter the wonder of alcohol and hallucinogenic drugs.

"Why not?" he asked flatly, and Charlie scuttled over to the hallway, where she found a six-pack of lucky logger waiting. She opened it, took two, and then grabbed another three. Her father, she remembered correctly, drank a lot. She put them down before him, and he pulled four to his side while she cracked one, and although it was lukewarm, it was heaven going down her throat.

"So..." she cleared her throat. "What have you been doing, these past two years?" He was staring at her intently.

"Dear _God_, you look just like your _mother_." he said, downing half his beer. He slapped the bottle down. "Harley did a _wonderful _job on your hair."

"Thanks."

"Did I ever tell you about your-- ah, uhm, mom?" he asked. She shook her head. "Hmm. Well, better late then _never_." he cleared his throat, settling back for story-telling. "I met your mother when she was still in college. Gonna be a doctor. Real beautiful. Smart-ass. _Loved her_. Right when I first saw her, I knew I had to have her. She didn't like me at first." he smirked. "Can ya believe that? Who could resist a face like _this?_" he slapped his cheeks lightly. "Of course, this was all before my little _accident_. Remember that?"

"Vaguely." Charlie lit two cigarettes and passed him one. He puffed on it for a moment, his eyes glazing over as he remembered those fond memories that must have been a century ago. "Don't really-- uh, want to, either."

"Yeah. Well one day she _finally _agreed to go on a date with me. I took her to the movies. I took her out for dinner. We got _married. _Bought a house. Had _you_." he reached over and pinched Charlie's cheek. "You were always our little _angel_. Happy little shit, you were. Put the light in our eyes. I remember when Jeannie had you... it was pissing rain that night. I drove her to the-- uh, hospital myself. I thought... I thought... when I first held you..." a fond smile, a smile she had never seen before, overcame his brutalized mouth and Charlie held her tongue, waiting. "Well, ya know, it's gettin' _late. _We got a _big _day tomorrow. Huge. Ya like the _opera,_ Charlie-baby?"

"Uh--"

"Ah-- tut, shhhhh. Finish you beer and go to _bed_." the Joker got up, his fond smile replaced by a bitter leer. "Gotta go see my little bitch Harley. She's _waiting_." he pranced out of the room. Charlie smoked another cigarette and then went to her bed. Lying on her back, she counted the tiles on the cieling, and squeezed her eyes shut tight when she heard Harley's terrific screams of agony ten minutes later.

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The morning dawned, and Charlie woke up slowly. She forgot where she was for a moment, stiffing on the bedspread, her hands fisting into the thin, ratty blankets. Realization and reality settled in. She rolled onto her back, stretching hard, yawning. Relaxing into the lumpy mattress, she shut her eyes partly and let the last night and day replay itself. Just thinking about it made her exhausted. Charlie remained still for a few moments, before sitting up, listening to her back creak gently. Flexing her neck, she cracked her achy fingers and got out of bed, her bare toes curling in against the bare, cold floor. Straightening, she walked out of her room, timidly looking around each corner before exiting. The warehouse was silent. The room where her father and Harley 'slept' was open, the light flickering eerily.

Tip-toeing over, she wondered what time it was. She glanced in and winced. The sheets were a tangled mass, bloody and torn. There was a red handprint on the wall, smearing downwards. _Christ, dad_. she thought, lips squirming into a grimace. She felt sorry for Harley. Charlie had seen something in her eyes-- beyond the worship, the devotion, the infatuation. She saw an intelligent girl, scared and confused. Or something along those lines. She wasn't as good as reading people as she had been two years ago. Her eighteenth birthday was next month, a day before Halloween. She hoped this birthday would be better then the other ones.

She found a note on the blue recycling box and her heart sank. The last time her father left her a note she didn't see him again for two years. The dirty plate was still there, in front of where he was sitting. The beer bottles were either standing or rolled somewhere on the floor. One was under the seat. She unfolded the note and looked at it.

_Sweets,_

_Me and Harley decided to go see a show tonight! Sorry you couldn't come, if I remember you're not very fond of the phantom of the opera... HA HA! Go find some money. Get yourself some nice clothes. That's an order. Toodles!_

Same smiley face, with two 'x' for eyes. Sighing, Charlie folded the note up and tucked it away. The phantom of the opera... what could that mean? Was he going to blow up an opera now, or something? Maybe he and Harley had some weird kinks. Strange mental images came to her head and she shuddered, forcing them away. _Oh man, that's so nasty. _She thought, before beginning to clean up. There was a little sink. As she ran what she hoped was clean water of the plate, she wondered why the hell a warehouse had a kitchen. Maybe it had been an industrial factory. This thing must have been from the 60s, or 70s, at least. _I wish I had a way to get a hold of him_, she thought miserably, before tossing the empty beer in a plastic bag she had found underneath the sink.

She crept into her father's room, presuming he had meant to retrieve the money from there. Her suspicions proved to be correct. A wad of cash rested on top of the pillow, which she had not noticed before, along with a single cigarette and a match-book. She smiled a little and lit it, but that smile quickly faded. She hoped he didn't get her back just so she could be a housekeeper, or someone to bitch and brag too. She found some of Harley's old clothes, under the bed. _What was she, a hooker? _she thought, frowning when she pulled out a black pair of short-shorts, and an old rockabilly white t shirt. She pulled these clothes on quickly, tossing her smelly, sweaty clothes back in her room. Grabbing her purse, she removed her sunglasses and put them on, carefully exiting the warehouse, jacket in hand. A breezy wind blew, chilling her. Adjusting the heel of her shoe, balancing on one leg, her purse slipped from her shoulder and clattered onto the ground. It was open. A sheet of paper was sticking out, between her wallet and makeup case.

Curious, she straightened, unfolded it and brushed her hair out of her face.

_Sonny-- 747-3452. _It was the man's phone number, the one from the canal yesterday. She remembered what he looked like clearly and she found herself smiling a little. Sonny had been very good-looking in her eyes, even if he did look a little big like a greasy junkie. Maybe she would give him a call. Keeping the note in the bottom of her purse so she wouldn't lose it, she stood for a moment, in the pleasant sunlight, watching the ocean lap against the industrial shore, jagged black rocks dotting it in a pattern that made no sense. Seagulls cried out, circling overhead. Two ravens conversed on a garbage can several meters away, but flapped off in a panic burst of feathers when she moved in their direction. She slipped on her coat and walked along the dock, boots clunking hollowly on the old wood. The cool breeze blasted by, ruffling her hair.

Charlie eventually came from the suburbs and towards Gotham's central. She hailed a taxi and wondered if it was safe for her to be doing this. The police already knew what she looked like now, but she wasn't very keen on giving herself a makeover-- what was she supposed to do, shave her head and bleach her skin white? Start wearing leather and chains and combat boots? A slight depression settled in her. While in Metropolis, she had adjusted into becoming a normal, independent young woman, but now that was shaken to the ground and she was stuck alone, frightened again. She hated-- no, _loathed-- _the desperate, paranoid feeling that accompanied her for nearly thirteen years of her life. She asked to get off outside a small Italian restaurant. Walking into _Indio's_, she went to the counter and asked to use the phone. The cute waiter had smiled a billion-dollar grin, handed her his cellular and winked.

"Take as long as you like." he said cheerfully. Charlie checked the time-- ten o clock sharp, in the morning. Sunny Monday, hello citizens of Gotham... the Joker's in town! She went to a quiet corner, and dialled Sonny's number. She wouldn't look as suspicious if she had someone with her-- especially a man, who could pass off as her boyfriend. The phone rang three times, and then someone fumbled and picked up the phone.

_"'Lo."_ Tired and sleepy, but she knew it was Sonny's voice.

"Hi, is this Sonny Wortzik?" she asked, a little shyly.

"_Yeah... who is this?"_

"It's Charlie. From the canal. Yesterday. Remember?" There was a moment of silence and Charlie was a little disappointed, thinking he had forgotten.

_"Yeah! Of course I remember. What's up?"_ he asked, sounding more awake. _"Can I do something for you?"_

"Well... you see, I'm downtown this morning, waiting for my dad... to come home. I'm _visiting_." she emphasized on that word. "I was wondering if you wanted to go for lunch with me?"

_"I can't. I have to take my cat to the vet."_

"Oh." Her voice dropped and became more irritable. She felt rejected, and her face heated up.

_"But I'll take you out for dinner." _he said. Her heart leapt a little. Someone was actually going to take her out for dinner! Her conscience questioned the idea. She could end up killing this man. But something in her loins gripped and tightened-- something that happened when she found herself watching pornography late at night in her apartment in Metropolis. Guilty pleasure. _"Hello? You still there?" _She enjoyed his nasal voice, slightly feminine, very adorable. She smiled.

"Yes, I am. Okay then. I don't have a phone, so I should call you back?"

_"Yeah, call me at six. Will you actually?"_

"Of course. I promise."

_"Great!" _he sounded immensely pleased. "_I'll pick you up from somewhere, my car is getting out of the shop in two hours."_

"Okay. I'll call you at six." she hung up the phone and felt an explosion of butterflies and she forgot about her father, Batman, the Gotham MCU, murder, pain, war and terrorism. She was going on a _date!_ She handed the phone back to the waiter.

"Everything all good?" he asked, smiling at her widely. She nodded.

"Yes, thank you." she beamed, and floated out the door, on cloud nine until she realized her problem. If she went out on a date, her father would _kill_ the man. Or would he? She had never really brought boys home, so she had never seen him react to something like that. Running it over in her mind, she guessed that with her father's... temper she shouldn't tell him. And she was still alone in broad daylight, in Gotham city. The air was crisp and refreshingly cool, for once, not humid and thick. There were no police in uniform to be seen. In fact, everyone seemed a little laid-back. Two parents were laughing at their curious four year old son across the street, as he tried to feed a pidgeon a piece of cracker. The father had his arm around the mother's shoulders, holding her against him lovingly, and both looked so... happy. A happiness that her father could never create.

Charlie wondered how she was still sane. If she was. She walked to the mall. She remembered where it was, and once she was inside she felt safer then being out on the streets. She avoided looking at the newspaper. She didn't want to see the spectacle that would probably go down in history. The only positive side would be that the police would be too busy dealing with that fucking mess in MCU to go hunting through a mall for Charlie. She was also sure Batman wasn't going to swoop out of a changing room in the lingerie department and arrest her. What she needed now, was a dress for dinner. Sonny hadn't specified anything, but she still wanted to look good. Great, in fact. She wanted to look like a model. Instead of being called cute or adorable and get her cheeks pinched, she wanted to be called lovely and desirable. Just once. So she knew what it was like.

She went to a fancy dress boutique, where the dresses were elegant and empire-cut, some adventerously sexy, others just burlesque, others completely outrageous. She look at a leapord print dress. The girl behind the counter had come to help her, and said the dress would go great with her tan-- but upon further searching, she came across a dress that her father would die to see on her. She tried it on, smiled at herself in the full-body mirror. It was a cheaper dress, only three hundred dollars, and the girl at the counter didn't seem to mind that she payed in hard cash-- two one hundred dollar bills, five twenties. Her heart feeling lighter, she went to another store.

An hour later, her purchases jumbled next to her, she was munching out in the food court, people-watching and observing. She wondered what the Joker was doing. She bought a decent travelling bag, 'cause lord knows they would be up and moving again soon enough, and there was no way in hell she was going to lose these clothes. She went into a washroom and packed her clothes into the bag, sliding her purse in it as well. She left the mall and took a taxi back, getting off four blocks from the harbour, when trouble erupted.

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revieww


	14. Voices

disclaimer: i do not own batman/dark knight, only my characters Charlie and Sonny.

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As Charlie took the first two steps away from the cab and it zoomed up the street and down another avenue, the nearest house, which had an idling black Mercedes in front of it, had its door thrown wide open and out walked a man Charlie never thought she would see out here. Shock rippled through her, her mouth went dry and her palms instantly got sweaty. The man on the stoop stopped dead when he saw her, and the handsome side of his face slowly curled up in a smile. Harvey Two-Face stepped down onto the lawn, pulling off the blood-soaked surgical gloves from his hands and tossing them into the dying garden. A heavy metal record was blaring from within the house, where Charlie presumed the owner was now dead. He sauntered towards her. Her mind screamed for her to run, but her feet remained cemented to the sidewalk. The afternoon sun was suddenly overwhelmingly hot.

"Well, well, well." Two-Face sneered, coming to a stop several feet in front of her. A couple of misplaced birds tweetered in the grey bushes. "Look who it is-- little Charlie, back from the dead? Your father owes me quite a big favour." he reached into his suit pocket, the wild side of it, and pulled out a dented coin, and it flipped with talent over his fingers. "Can I give you a ride, little girl?"

"No. Stay away from me." Charlie ordered, glad to find her voice was strong.

"Good girl. You shouldn't accept rides from strangers." his smirk got wider, the scarred side of his face showing off every one of pearly whites. The structure of a tooth is freakishly long and slender, she saw, and a chill passed through her spine. She thought of a cannibal. Serial killer documentaries she had seen on the television.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, trying to stay calm and composed. Two-Face was a tricky one. He was like her father in a way.

"Taking care of business." he replied nonchalantly. "You know, we've all been wondering where you were, Charlie. Your father was a _mess _after you disappeared. No lie." Charlie flinched. "He went even crazier, if that was possible. Don't you think what you did was a little selfish?"

"_No_." she said sharply. "I did it because I _had _too."

"I guess Wayne treated you too good, huh?" Two-Face shrugged to himself. "What a shame. We all thought you could handle yourself."

"Fuck you, Dent." Charlie spat. "Stay the hell away from me." She turned on her heel and stalked away bravely.

"Or what? You'll tell _daddy?_" he laughed, heading towards the black Mercedes idling in the street before the aforementioned house, still laughing when he shut the door to the passenger seat. The music of the house followed her halfway up the street, before she broke out in a run and ran straight to the warehouse. Once inside its thin, steely walls, she stood in the silence and dust for a moment, gnawing on her lower lip uneasily. Was Dent right? Had she been selfish? Guilt rippled through her, and suddenly her new clothes and dress and bag looked lame and almost embarassing, and she tossed them angrily on her bed.

_Ignore him. He's a fucking jerk. He's trying to hurt you. _Charlie thought, fighting back the tears. _You're going on a date at six o clock. It's one thirty right now. You have four and a half hours to kill. Forget about him. You're Charlie. You can do whatever you want. _She told herself this over and over again, gradually regaining a lighter mood. She pulled on her new jeans and a warm, fitted white hoodie, and set about trying to distract herself, cleaning the place top to bottom.

The Joker and Harley came home around four o clock. Charlie had been reading the newspaper, finally musting the courage. Sipping ramen noodles from the container, she winced and flinched at the eight paged editorial that documented the events of the past 24 hours-- her odd arrest, the horrifying slaughter, Batman's disappearance during the time, Two-Face's strange crime patterns. Gordon was still alive. Charlie wondered how much luck that man had left, before it ran out. She was finally in the arts & entertainment section, and looked up, unsurprised when the two clowns walked in. Harley had a bleeding nose, and she was pinching her nostrils shut, her eyes down-cast and upset. Her father looked very angry.

"What's the matter?" Charlie asked, fearing the worst.

"Oh, nothing. Just this dumb little _bitch_," he punched Harley between the shoulder-blades, sending her flying to the floor with a pained squeal. Charlie winced. "Doesn't know the _fucking _difference between _right _and _wr-ong_-_uh."_ He nailed his foot into Harley's ribs.

"Dad..." Charlie said quietly. "Don't..."

"Don't tell me what to _do_, little girl." he said gruffly, and then his mood switched with eery freakish speed. He smiled wide, his scars doubling up on themselves horrifically. "Ah, _well_. Every _clown _has her un-_funny _moments-_uh_."

"What happened?"

"Harley got _cold feet_. Left my ass in the _wind_. But," his angered tone became bright. "Charlie-baby, I'm takin' you to the _op-er-uh _soon. Like the arts? I think it gives Gotham a more-- uh, personal twist to its _ag-un-ee._" he was accentuating his words strongly, which gave Charlie a bad feeling. Usually when that happened he had a sick, twisted plan up his sleeve.

"Where were you?" she asked suspiciously. Harley had managed to get on her knees, her breath wheezing in and out of her lungs. Charlie edged over to her until she was standing, what she hoped was inconspicuously, before the injured woman.

"Meeting with the Board of _Dire-k-tors..._quite the prissy bunch. I got us front row seats to the _biggest _production you have _ever seen._" he grinned. "_Free of charge._ Baby."

"Oh...uhm, okay. Dad?"

"_What."_

"I'm going out tonight. At like six--" he waved her off, heading towards his room.

"I don't give a _fuck _what you do, Charlie-baby, just don't get _caught._ Harley!" he barked at his sidekick. "Get the _fuck _in here. _Now_. I don't think I made myself _clear..." _Charlie watched as he pulled off his jacket and tossed it at her. She caught it, almost stumbling. Harley got to her feet slowly.

"Okay... mistah J'..." she whispered, and Charlie saw fear and devotion mingled in her eyes. Charlie could almost _feel _her tempest of emotions. It radiated out of her pores-- lust, violence, pain, fright, joy. It had a metallic scent, almost. Like blood. Charlie carefully folded her father's coat and decidedly blocked out the sounds of Harley and the Joker in their room. Her screams mixed with his laughter, rising in a gruesome cacaphony until Charlie completely lost her appetite. Anger rippled through her instead of intimidation, and she stormed over to the door and pounded on it as hard as she could.

"SHUT UP!" she screamed. "_I'm a CHILD, _for God's sake!" It was quiet for a moment, and then the two of them beyond the door were _laughing_, and Charlie groaned and hurled her half-finished noodles into the garbage, and slammed the door to her room very hard. She couldn't really hear them in here, but she still _could_. She looked down at her father's coat. There had been a few new tears that no one had repaired, and opening her purse she pulled out the little needle and thread ball she always kept with her-- living with her father all her life taught her that there was going to be a lot of tears in her clothes (and sometimes skin). She set about sewing the coat up for him, hoping he wouldn't mind that the thread was black instead of plum. The operation took twenty minutes, and she pulled it on to test how it felt.

Still the same. Same scent of gasoline, detergent, and sulpher. She wrapped it tightly around herself and sat on her bed for a moment, just thinking, enjoying the momentary silence. Harley and the Joker had gotten quieter until she was sure that they had been doing other things. She glanced at the nearly-broken clock on the kitchen wall, exiting her room briefly. It was four thirty. Time to get ready. She stowed away into her room, packed her dress carefully into her new bag, her new jewellery and whatnot, slipped on some low-raised high heels that were decent yet, what she thought, rather elegant. She knocked on the door to Harley and the Joker's room.

"What." her father opened the door sharply. She held out his jacket.

"I sewed it for you."

"Oh? Why _thank _you, Charlie-_baby_. Where you _goin'_?"

"Out. Around. I haven't seen Gotham in two years..." he waved her off.

"Yeah, _yeah. _Have fun. And come _home _this time." He shut the door in her face. Charlie stood there for several seconds, and then shrugged one shoulder, to herself. She retrieved her bag and took some money left over from her shopping spree earlier, and was standing outside when she remembered she had not told her father about her little confrontation with Two-Face. Should I?, she thought, tracing her lower lip for a moment with her finger. She bit off a few of her fingernails, a bad habit she could never drop, and then decided it was best if she didn't. No sense starting a war between them. She walked up the dock once again, pleased to see that the overcast clouds had disappeared and the sun was glowing mellowly in the sky, warming her front and hair. Soon there was a slight strut in her step as her good mood increased, and when she reached Gotham central she was very happy. She was back in her true home, with her father, and going on a date. A rational part of her mind explained to her while she walked that going on a date with some random guy was probably a very bad idea. She dismissed the voice. She was just about to slot a quarter in a payphone to call Sonny, Gotham's watch-tower proclaiming above her that it was ten to six. The quarter rolled in, jangled, and then a voice spoke.

"_Ya know, you could probably reeeaallly fuck with this guy's head, Charlie."_ she jumped and turned around, but there was no one there. _"I'm over here." _she looked towards the phone, stepping back from it as if it were a monster, holding the phone arms-length away, eyes wide and eyebrows disappearing into her hairline.

"What the--"

_"Fuck? Yeah, you really lost it now, sweetie. The only date you're ever gonna get is with the doctors up in Arkham!" _The voice was female and male, both mixed together, sounding almost static around the edges, like frayed hems of curtains or denim cut-offs. It was absurdly close but she couldn't see anybody near her, no one was within a five meter radius of the phone booth and no one was definitely speaking to her from outside. There were no hidden tape recorders or walky-talkies-- she checked. She slammed the phone down and rubbed her eyes hard, fear and discomfort blooming in her stomach, making her uneasy and a little sickened. She waited for the voice to come back, but it didn't. The next time she glanced at the clock it was five after six, and she forgot about the strange voice, dismissing it as her imagination, just some illusion that had accumulated from the stress and rush of the past few days. She picked up the phone, reslotted her quarter, and dialled Sonny's number.


	15. Gotham Lights

Sonny answered the phone almost immediately. In the deep, velvet night, his voice was a soft, warm beacon of light for her. It helped her forget the violence going back on at Home. She briefly wondered if it was a little too early to be going out on a date—but this was her first offer, _ever._ Butterflies chirped in her belly, and her heart pounded.

They talked for a moment, and then Charlie quickly tried to recall what the nearest hotel was—she didn't want to look suspicious, getting picked up in front of a warehouse in Gotham Docks. That would be weird, anyways.

"I'm at the Clarion." She told him, and he said he would be there in about twenty minutes, which would give her plenty of time. She hung up the phone after saying good-bye, looked around to see if anyone was around, and hastily changed out of her clothes and into the dress she had bought. A cramped phone booth wasn't the most elegant of places but hell, she was sure the Joker would have had something to say about her walking out the door dressed like this. She wished she had a mirror to look at herself in but unfortunately that would have to wait.

It took her a moment's courage. She decided she would leave her bag with her grubby clothes in the little box where the phone book was once chained too, although it had been torn out long ago. If someone were to steal it, the clothes were worthless anyways. It took her a moment to summon up said courage, simply because the voice she had encountered earlier, trying to draw her into evil deeds. She peered into the darkness, unable to really see by what the dock lights revealed, which wasn't much.

No one was out there. She cleared her throat, and craved a cigarette. She stepped out of the phone booth, and felt winter's first chill rustle her long, straight hair. She slipped on her jacket, and walked. Her heels crunched on the gravel until she reached cement, under the sidewalk headlights, and she watched her shadow bob along beside her. She was excited, nervous, unsure of what to do or how to act. She also thought about the Joker, Harley, and Two-Face. She wasn't quite sure what the ex- District Attorney wanted, and wasn't really wanting to know—nonetheless getting yanked into something she didn't want to be.

In a way, she was happy, though. She had happy to be back near her dad, so she could keep an eye on him and his antics, and it looked like she would have to intervene now and then to stop him from possibly crippling or even killing his beau. Harley was a strange person, that was for sure, with the looks of a super model but obviously as depraved as the Joker. This was a recipe for disaster. Add in a befuddled Two-Face, and a 17 year old girl, mix, stir, and let's see what happens.

Ten minutes later she was back on normal city streets. The traffic was low, houses had their lights on as people settled down to dinner or the TV, just normal people carrying on with their normal lives. It was something she would never be a part of and sometimes Charlie envied them, sometime fucking _hated _them, blaming the world for her own shitty luck and having her thrown into a topsy-turvy life that just couldn't seem to get back on the straight and narrow for more then two years.

Three minutes later she was in front of the Clarion, a four star hotel. The traffic was heavier here, and she stood underneath the velvet entrance cover, and smoked a cigarette. She was starting to get more nervous now, a billion thoughts racing through her mind, the most important ones consisting of a) Sonny ditched her. B) Her dad would suddenly randomly pop up. C) Batman.

A rusty old Impala suddenly drove up, screeching to a stop next to a curve. The tinted window rolled down and she saw with a rush of relief, anxiety and intimidation Sonny peering out at her. She suddenly thought that maybe it was a little reckless that she was going on a random date with a random guy; he could be dangerous for all she knew, and from what she had observed the men in Gotham weren't the most ripest choices. But, it was too late now. He hopped out of the car.

"Jeez, Charlie, you look like a million bucks." He said, smiling. Charlie blushed deeply. "C'mon, I made a reservation at Jane & Walter's. Ever been?" Charlie shook her head, and walked over to the passenger side of the car and clambered in, thankful to be out of the breezy air and in the warm, comfortable interior. Classic rock softly played from the radio. Sonny got in, kicked the car into drive and did an illegal u-turn, rolling up the street. She glanced at the rear-view mirror and watched the hotel get farther and farther away. Here we go.

"So… how's your dad?" Sonny asked. Charlie smiled a little.

"Really good. He's with his girlfriend."

"That's cool. What does he do?" His Brooklyn accent made her melt. He smelled like spices and earth.

"This and that." She said off-handedly.

"Oh. Okay. How long are you staying in Gotham?"

"Not sure yet, actually. Maybe a month or two." Even Charlie didn't know how long she was going to be. Maybe she would stay here forever or at least until the Joker died—which she couldn't see happening for a long time anyways.

"I hope ya stay a while." Sonny grinned at her. He had shaved. She suddenly wondered how old he was, but didn't ask. They talked a little, but Charlie was mostly gathering conversation topics for dinner, although she didn't know much about anything except guns, explosives, mental torture, etc., this might be a disaster, or this might be a miracle.

They pulled into Jean & Walter's crowded parking lot, and they exited the car. Sonny walked next to her and her heels tapped along the pavement. They entered the warm restaurant. Charlie had to excuse herself to the bathroom, and she walked quickly towards them, glancing back so she could at least make sure she knew which table they were going to be sitting at. She entered the bathroom, which was well lit but the golden tiles and dark cedar bathroom stalls gave everything a pretty, amber glow. She stood in front of the mirror, looking at herself.

The dress she had bought, was a bright, vibrant purple. It had elegant capped sleeves and a scooped neckline that showed off her small, tanned breasts. A silver, delicate chain-belt outlined her hourglass waist. Two cut-outs underneath her armpits showed off the curve of her breast, the hemline falling a few inches above her knees. She looked at herself up and down, and was ultimately pleased with the result. She felt beautiful, and she smiled at herself.

She was rooting in her clutch for her lip gloss, when the door to the bathroom opened. She paid no heed, and didn't even hear the lock of the door turn. She looked up when she realized the footsteps were too heavy to be a woman's—and Two-Face was there, and within two seconds he had a nice at her collarbone and he had yanked her against him, and she was pressed into his powerful body. He was wearing a suit, one half of it elegant and black, the other half a crazy kaleidoscope of glitter, pink, green and blue. He was grinning like a fucking maniac.

"Well, well. Look who we got here. Didn't think walkin' away from me was gonna help, did ya?" He asked. "You look _so _beautiful. You've grown up so much, Charlie. _Mmmm._" She could barely breathe. All she could think about was her throat being slit, and bright red blood splattering all across the mirror. She would die here. Tears came to her eyes. She thought about her dad. "Do you know why I followed you here?" She shook her head. "Your daddy owes me. I want what's mine, but it's kinda hard reasoning with that clown, which I'm sure you know. He owes me a lot of money, and a lot of my time, a few heads. But it's not like you can just walk up to someone like that and tell 'em to pay up, hey?" He traced the knife down her chest, threatening to break the skin. It traced the curve of her breast, and she fidgeted. "Don't do that, girl, I might cut it off." He said into her ear.

"Please." She whispered. Her legs shook. He chuckled.

"What should I do with you? I'd kill you right now." He bent her over suddenly, and his groin was pressed into her ass, and he leaned over her, grinding into her gently. Her heart beat very quickly. She had always thought about this happening, but not like _this._ Not with Two-Face. Charlie envisioned being raped and she sobbed a little. "I'd slit your throat and fuck you right here, babe, but the last thing I want is daddy out for revenge. Then I definitely won't get what I want." He moved away from her, and she scrambled away, backing into the corner as far as the stall would permit her.

"Stay away from me." She hissed. _Kill him, Charlie. Kill him._ It was the voice again, the Radio Voice from before. She ignored it, but for a second, almost could see herself lunging across the bathroom, wrestling the knife from his hands and stabbing him to death. The thought chilled her. Two-Face laughed.

"This was just a warning. You better let your daddy know that I'm pissed, 'cause I don't wanna have to chase his crazy ass around, girl. Now go run along and have a good time with that guy, just make sure daddy doesn't see him. He'll end up dead." Two-Face laughed, and left the bathroom, leaving Charlie in there alone, and very frightened.


	16. Reflections

When Charlie finally stumbled out of the bathroom and over to where Sonny was sitting, she had managed to calm herself down. She had cried a little hysterically in the stall for a few minutes, before reminding herself that she was in a public restaurant and at any moment someone might come in and hear her, or maybe Sonny would get worried and ask a waitress to go check on her. Needless to say, he did look a little concerned and was drinking an amber glass of whiskey.

"You okay?" He asked, worried.

"Yeah, sorry. I was on the phone with my dad." Charlie smiled cheerfully. She was pleased when the waiter made a beeline for them.

"Anything to drink, miss?" He asked grandly.

"Yes..." She wasn't sure. She needed alcohol, though. Badly. "Vodka martini please, with lot's of olives... please."

"Of course." He left, after producing a menu. She opened it and smiled at Sonny from over the edge of it.

"So. Your dad doesn't mind if you're out all by yourself?"

"No, he doesn't."

"Should I have met him first?" Right. Charlie hadn't told the Joker he was going out on a date. She shrugged, trying to save time to think up an excuse.

"Meh, he's pretty much a free spirit. You know what I mean?" She had to get the conversation away from her dad. "So... what do you do?"

"Well," They were momentarily interrupted by Charlie's martini arriving. She was momentarily worried they would ID her but no such luck. She figured she looked older anyways, coming to eat at a posh restaurant like this. She knocked back the martini like it was nothing, although it burned her throat. Sonny stared at her in astonishment. Charlie handed the glass back to the waiter.

"Another one, please."

"Right away." The waiter trotted off.

"Go on." Sonny regained his composure.

Sonny had graduated community college last year in Detroit, and had moved to Gotham to take care of his ailing mother. He was working at a sheet metal factory. He was 20 years old. He ate pork back ribs, Charlie got a shrimp skewer and kept those martinis coming, trying to dull the pain and fear that Two-Face had caused her. She found herself laughing and talking away with Sonny, but at the same time felt like she was walking on eggshells. She could, under no circumstances, allow him to know who she really was. So, she built a house of lies for him, recreating a grand life that was really a big, fat steaming pile of bullshit. Instead of the typical, preppy girl she wanted to pass off for she was really street kid Sin City, protege of the most dangerous man alive.

After about an hour, she was drunk.

"Haha, I love vodka." She said cheerfully, sipping from her fifth martini. "Jeez, Sonny, you're so cute." He blushed and looked pleased with himself. "Why don't you have another drink? I'm buying."

"Hell no, I'm paying!" He responded, laughing. "But you should slow down, Charlie, you're going to get sick."

"Nah!" She was about to say _You should see how much me and my dad can drink! _But that would lead to questions, and who knows what her loose tongue would reveal tonight if she didn't stay off topics Sonny had no business knowing about. "Thanks, though." She hiccupped. "Dis my last drink. Anyways. Promise." She laughed again.

"I should probably take you home." He replied, waving the waiter over for the bill. Momentary panic flashed through her mind. She hadn't even thought about this- how was she supposed to convince him to drop her off at the Clarion when she didn't even stay there?

"Nah, I'll walk."

"No way, are you crazy?" Her good mood suddenly dissipated and she looked at him with a look that was freakishly like her father's.

"No, I'm not." She retorted.

"Oh. Jesus, sorry."

And then she was back again, and smiling.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to sound so rude. You're right, it would be crazy if I walked home. Maybe I'll just call a cab."

"No, I can drive you. It's no problem on my part. I should probably meet your dad anyways." Charlie almost choked on her drink.

"Yeah, no," She said, coughing. "He's probably...working."

"At nine?"

"He works late." She whipped back the rest of her martini. "Really, I can get a cab." She started to collect her coat.

"No, seriously. Please, Charlie, let me drive you." He touched her hand and she stopped, looking at him. His huge brown eyes made her feel like jelly. "I had a great time tonight and I want to drive you home. Do it for me." She thought about it. She remembered Two-Face's threat. Maybe getting a ride home with Sonny wouldn't be such a bad idea. She could just explain that her dad helped clean up the docks. Aha! Brilliant! She knocked back the rest of her martini, got on her jacket, and stumbled outside for a smoke while Sonny paid for their meal.

She found herself passing out. She had barely managed to give out directions, spilling out some half-assed story she had quickly formulated in her mind about her dad cleaning up the docks. Late at night. Charlie prayed he would buy it. He did, although a little unsuredly. She instructed him to leave her by the phone booth she had changed from earlier.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come up with you?" He asked. "There are some real freaks around here." She almost laughed.

"Nah, I'm all good. Thanks, though." She turned to look at him, and he leaned over and kissed her cheek. Blood spread through her face and made it hot.

"Can I see you again?" He asked, hovering near her face. He smelled like whiskey. She touched the collar of his shirt and felt him shudder lightly.

"Okay." She smiled shyly. "I'll call you."

Charlie got out of the car and started walking up the wooden dock.

"Hey!" She turned. Sonny was standing outside of the car. "What's your number?"

"Bye, Sonny!" She said, and giggled a little, and practically floated home. Sonny watched her walk away, and scratched his head. Weird kid. But a sweetheart. He smiled, got back in his car, and drove away, praying that she would call him again.

Charlie hadn't even thought about what she would do if her father was up- which he was. Harley was nowhere to be seen. Sitting on one of the ratty chairs in the kitchen, the only light coming from the bare bulb that flickered every now and then, the Joker sat in all his glory, smoking a cigarillo. It had been a long time since Charlie had seen him smoke. She leaned against the doorway. He looked at her. He looked her up and down.

"Weeelll, what do I have here? You look _mighty fancy_, Charlie-_baby._ Where were ya, all _night?" _He punctuated each word. Charlie swayed.

"I went out." She replied. "You?"

"I stayed _home_, what does it look like- _uh_?" He replied, crushing his cigarillo out on the recycle bin. "Ah, uhh, ahem, c'mere, let me take a look at _ya, _gotta say, you got a _looovellly _taste in dress, my lovely _giiirl._" She walked over to him and he stood up. Charlie was about a foot shorter then him, so she had to look up. His face paint needed redoing, and so did his hair. She suddenly missed doing it for him, even through all the shit he had put her through. Even though she sometimes hated, loathed and feared him, she still needed him. He was all she had, and all she ever will have. She had hated herself in Metropolis for abandoning him in Arkham, but she couldn't see anyway out and couldn't bring herself to stay at Bruce Wayne's any longer. Sure, the lodging was much nicer then this, but there was something missing from Wayne's that could never be replaced, and he was standing right in front of her now.

The Joker took her hand and spun her delicately. She smiled a little. "_Jeez,_ do you ever look like your _mother. _Spittin' image." He put his arm around Charlie's waist and held her other hand. "I remember takin' your mother out _dancin', _God did she ever love to dance. Uh, ahem, she could definately two-step, never seen anyone look as damn good as she did, aha." He laughed a little. Charlie smiled and rested her head on her father's chest as they gently swayed together. She thought about the future as he contemplated the past, feeling his child against him and although he could barely even realize it himself, he had missed his daughter more then anything in the world.

Charlie suddenly felt like she was going to cry. She wanted to tell the Joker about Two-Face but for just one damn minute she wished everything would be okay, that everything would be normal and maybe in ten years from now she could dance like this with him at her wedding. But that would never happen, now.

He twirled his little girl gently and brought her back to him. Charlie had never felt his hand so gentle. It made her feel anxious, for some reason. She moved with him, and she was happy. Happy to be back in her less-then-ordinary lifestyle, happy to be ball rooming dancing with no music in an old warehouse with the clown prince. He pushed her away after a moment. "Ya grew up while you were gone, uh, ahem, uhm. You're not a _little girl_ anymore, I guess." He suddenly gripped her shoulders _hard, _almost violently, and he dragged her up to his face. She squealed a little, in pain and surprise at his sudden turn in mood. "I just hope you don't turn out to be, uh, ah, a - a fuckin' _cunt _like your mother." And he pushed her away, that soft, paternal look in his eyes long gone, a savage rage now sparking. He suddenly laughed. He laughed for a really long time, until Charlie got concerned.

"Dad, are you alright?" She asked nervously, wanting to approach him but not wanting to be the object of his rage. His laughter dwindled. She didn't get the joke, if there had ever been one.

"I'm _sweet as piiie, _Charlie-baby. Now get the fuck to bed, ah, uhhm, you've been drinkin'. And if you were out with some _asshole _tonight who thinks he can fuck around with muh- _my baby girl_, he's got another thing comin'." He waved her off, sitting back down and fishing for his cigarettes. His face went catatonic. It was times like these where you better get the hell out of his way; he was thinking about family and when the Joker thought about family it was never pretty. Charlie prayed Harley wasn't home or she would be crippled, and went to bed herself.


End file.
